In My Blood
by denpa wave chick saki
Summary: Moira O'Deorain, brilliant Talon geneticist, has been tasked with creating the perfect assassin, and she asks herself if it is possible for a human being to be reprogrammed. Amélie Lacroix is just trying to forget past horrors and move on, doing her best to readjust to the life of an Overwatch agent. And Lena Oxton is just a forgotten name struggling to be remembered.
1. Chapter 1

_Help me  
It's like the walls are caving in  
Sometimes I feel like giving up  
But I just can't  
It isn't in my blood_

 _You're Tracer now._

With all senses deprived except for pain, it was becoming harder and harder to remember who she had been before. She knew she needed to remember, she had to keep them from taking her identity away; it was the only thing she had left.

Another strong surge of pain coursed through her, and she let out a muffled yell, biting down harshly on whatever was between her teeth and keeping her silent. She struggled against her restraints, feeling them dig into her flesh. She was being kept in darkness, so she had no idea who, if anyone, was watching her, or why.

 _Just accept what they want; the sooner you give in, the sooner this will end._

That seemed like the most logical thing to do; she had no concept of time, so she had no idea how long she'd been kept like this, though it felt like forever. Only feeling pain, never knowing what was going on around her… it was her own personal Hell.

 _No… don't give in._

There it was; the small part of her that willed her to keep going. Despite the pain and overwhelming want to give in, there was always a tiny part of her that still fought. It was becoming harder and harder to hear, but it was still there.

 _You're not an assassin; you don't have to be what they want._

Another surge of pain, and she let out another yell, her struggling resuming.

 _You're Lena… Lena Oxton… don't forget._

* * *

Amélie woke with a start, sitting upright in bed with a gasp. The images from her dream (more like a nightmare) still lingered; a dark room, the feeling of needles in her arms, silhouetted figures standing over her—

 _It's not real; you're back with Overwatch now._

That was truly, but only partially. Because at some point, it had been real; she had been spirited away in the night to some unknown location, where she had been subjected to… Amélie didn't even know what the right word was. Experiments, maybe? That sounded too horrible, as if she had only been some specimen for them to study, instead of a terrified woman.

Amélie paused a few moments longer, trying to collect herself before she got to her feet and headed over to her closet. After dressing for the day, Amélie returned to stand in front of her mirror, beginning to pull her long hair back into a ponytail. She caught sight of her blue-tinged fingers in the mirror as she did so; the physical reminders that her nightmares had, at one point, been true. Amélie finished with her hair and looked down at her hands, the unnatural blue staring back at her. Angela hadn't been able to tell her decisively if it was permanent or not, and Amélie tricked herself into believing that every day, it was a little less blue.

Sometimes it almost worked.

The French woman paused a few moments longer, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing. She was no longer in Talon's clutches; Overwatch had rescued her and she was safe now.

Safe. That was a concept that seemed so foreign now. She had thought Overwatch would keep her safe in the first place, and that had turned out to be less than true. They claimed that they had bolstered their defenses since then, but Amélie was still hesitant. Noises in the darkness still made her jump, and she always slept with her sniper rifle within arm's reach.

Amélie opened her eyes and took one last look in the mirror before she left the room, heading down the hallway and down the main staircase. Upon reaching the kitchen, she found Angela and Fareeha already present, though they both looked as though they had just rolled out of bed. Angela was dressed in her usual Capri leggings and shirt that looked suspiciously like it belonged to a certain Amari; Fareeha meanwhile looked much less put together. Dressed in boxers, a tank top, and two socks that were bunched up and didn't quite seem the same shade of blue.

Amélie became aware of the fact that she was internally judging, and she realized that she had been staring without giving any sort of greeting. " _Salut_."

The two looked up, and Fareeha's brow furrowed slightly. "You're already dressed? It's 8 A.M."

Amélie shrugged. "I did not realize there was a certain time for dressing."

"You could learn something from Amélie's dressing habits," Ana said, coming onto the kitchen and giving her daughter a look.

Fareeha scowled at that. "Once again, it's eight in the morning; most people have their coffee and breakfast before they get dressed."

"Oh I didn't mean the time; I meant not dressing like your closet threw up on you," Ana amended as she prepared her tea.

"Mom!"

Ana chuckled before she turned her attention to the French woman. "How are you feeling this morning, Amélie?"

Amélie's eyes flashed towards present company for a brief moment before she replied, "As expected." Angela was the only person who knew the full extent of how she truly was, and she intended to keep it that way. There was no reason anyone else needed to know her business.

She could tell by their looks that they didn't entirely believe her, and in order to avoid discussing the matter further, the French woman moved to the coffeemaker, pulling her mug down from the cupboard ("Pardon my French") and pouring coffee into it. Upon taking the first sip however, she soon realized her mistake. The "coffee", if it could be called that, was the instant type Jack insisted on buying; not the type she usually drank. Amélie paused, holding the coffee in her mouth, not entirely wanting to swallow, but knowing that it would be considered "socially unacceptable" to spit it out.

Amélie finally forced herself to swallow it, though the expression on her face must have betrayed her true emotions.

"I suppose I should have warned you before you poured," Angela said, while Fareeha hid her amusement in her mug.

Amélie made a noise of agreement, setting her mug on the counter as she considered how wasteful they would think her if she dumped it down the sink.

"Do you feel ready to return to training?" Ana asked.

That caused Amélie to pause. Training as Ana's apprentice seemed a lifetime ago; she had certainly shown a knack for the craft, but after everything that had happened… her hands shook just holding her rifle. Firing it and actually hitting a target seemed impossible.

Angela seemed to sense Amélie's hesitation and said, "Perhaps this is something we should discuss later?"

"It is a simple question—"

"Later," Angela said, a bit more insistently.

Ana didn't look entirely ready to drop the subject, but she didn't press further.

* * *

"He's starting to ask questions; he want results."

Moira didn't look up from the tablet in her hands. "You can tell him that he will have answers very soon."

Reaper crossed his arms, looking at the subject in the tank. Whatever she was experiencing was obviously less than pleasant, as she was currently struggling against her restraints, her yells muffled. "Antonio is not a patient man, and when he finds out that all his funding went to one girl—"

"He is in no position to judge, and neither are you." Moira finally looked up, giving Reaper an annoyed look. "I cannot rush the natural progression of science."

"I am merely relaying a message, and as long as he supplies us with funds, he is in the position to do anything he wants," Reaper said.

Moira didn't reply to that, instead turning her attention back to the tank. "Well, he won't have to wait much longer; this phase of her reprogramming is almost complete."

Reaper paused, and if he was wearing any irritated or otherwise expression, it couldn't be seen behind his mask. "Let me know when it is," he said before he left the lab.

Moira paused for a few moments before she said, "I know you're here Sombra." The redhead looked back down at her tablet, even as she heard footsteps behind her.

"You are very suspicious; you always think I am spying on you," Sombra said, sitting on the table beside Moira.

"You are always spying on me; you're a pest that gets into everything, and the only difference is that I am not allowed to exterminate you. Now off." Moira shooed Sombra off the table, and the hacker muttered some choice Spanish before she turned to face the tank.

"So how much longer is 'almost complete' for you?" Sombra asked. "Because for me it's about five minutes—"

"Do you have anything useful to say, or are you just here to annoy me?" Moira interrupted; she was used to putting up with Sombra, but was never entirely in the mood for it.

"I just want to check up on my investment; that technology I stole could have been put to a much better use."

Moira set her jaw; she was getting a little fed up with everyone casting doubt on her project. "Rest assured, I am putting it to good use, which will be seen very soon."

"You know, you're just using varied phrases without giving an actual timeline—"

"Tomorrow, Sombra. Are you happy now?"

The hacker grinned slightly. "Now was that so difficult?"

"Extremely. Now, if there is nothing else, leave me. I am still busy, and every distraction delays my work."

"All right, hurtful message received," Sombra said, putting her hands up defensively. "I look forward to seeing the big reveal tomorrow." The hacker finally left, and Moira let out a sigh, turning her attention to the tank. She approached and watched the subject inside, who had finally stopped struggling and was currently still.

"Tomorrow we show them the result of my hard work. Don't disappoint me."

* * *

Angela's office was comfortable enough, but despite everything the doctor had done to make it hospitable, it was still a doctor's office. Amélie was never fully relaxed during her sessions with Angela; then again, she supposed she had never been fully relaxed since her rescue from Talon. She was always slightly on edge, always ready to run or fight if her life depended on it.

"Amélie?"

The French woman was pulled back to the present by Angela's voice, and she realized that the doctor was looking at her expectantly. "Hmm?"

"I asked if you were ready to begin."

"Oh… yes."

Angela had to keep from frowning externally; therapy was not her area of expertise. She was a combat medic primarily, but what Amélie was suffering from… it was not something she could simply bandage and allow to heal. Amélie's wound was a mental one; it was the equivalent of attempting to heal a bullet wound by periodically shoving a knife into it.

She could still remember when Amélie had been brought back to the HQ after being kidnapped. She could remember working late in her office when she heard the call of "We found Amélie!" She remembered running into the main room with the others and watching as they brought Amélie in; from her hands to her elbows, Amélie's skin was an unnatural blue. Her arms seemed locked at the elbows, and she was shaking violently. Gerard had run to his wife to embrace her, though Amélie barely seemed to register he was there. But the thing Angela remembered the most was the fact that the French woman's eyes looked haunted, as though she had borne witness to something too horrible to describe.

It had taken them a month, but they had managed to rescue her from the grasp of Talon; now Angela feared they had only managed to rescue her physically.

"How would you like to begin today?" Angela asked, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.

Amélie didn't reply, instead looking down at her blue tinged fingers.

Angela paused a moment before she tried again. "Are you still having the nightmares?"

"Unfortunately."

Amélie was a bit more shut off today; Angela had a feeling that the French woman was never entirely open with her, but there were times when Amélie spoke more than others.

"I want to return to training with Ana."

That took Angela by surprise. "You don't need to feel pressured to accept just because Ana asked—"

"Her asking does not influence my decision; I cannot stand being idle any longer. I need to do something to occupy my time, and if I can help Overwatch, then I want to."

Angela worried her bottom lip, choosing her next words carefully. "Amélie, I understand you wanting to do something to keep from feeling helpless, but it has only been six months since Gerard's death—"

"I am aware of how long it has been." Amélie didn't want to talk about Gerard; she had opened that wound too many times before, had cried enough over his murder. "I am tired of being afraid; I am tired of jumping at every noise in the night, thinking Talon has returned for me. I need to do this."

Angela sighed, but what more could she say? If this was what Amélie felt she needed to help her recover, then how could Angela object? "All right, I suppose if you pass your physical, I can approve your return to training."

* * *

Pain. Still so much pain.

They had moved her, she knew that much. When she first felt hands on her, she had struggled, but that did little to ward off whoever had grabbed her. She could feel something being put on her, almost like a body suit, and suddenly the darkness ended.

She had been kept in the darkness for so long and hadn't been prepared for the sudden change. She let out a hiss and growl, throwing herself to the floor and covering her face with her hands in order to shield her eyes from the painfully blinding light. Whatever had been used to keep her quiet had been removed as well, but she seemed to have forgotten how to use her voice.

"Easy; it will take you a few moments to adjust," a cool, serrated voice said.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the change in light, and she lowered her hands hesitantly as she looked up at the tall figure looming over her.

"Welcome back to the world, Tracer. I suspect you're unsure of what's going on, but all you need to know is that it is in your best interest to follow orders. Disobedience will be met with an increase in pain; do you understand?"

Tracer… was that her name? No, no she had some other name… something she had tried so hard not to forget. She tried to focus, but couldn't through the pain. Whatever this suit was, whatever they had put on her… it felt as though her nerves were on fire. All she wanted to do was get it off, make it stop, anything to make it stop.

"Now, we'll need to run a few tests to evaluate your cognitive and motor skills—"

Tracer lunged for the woman, her actions fueled by her pain and rage.

Moira was quick to react to Tracer's attack, her hand shooting out and catching Tracer with her biotic grasp. The brunette fell to her knees, letting out a yell as she tried to fight through it.

"I understand your instinct to attack; the pain enrages you, and drives you to do something to distract yourself from it. However, you should learn very quickly that attacking me will only make your life more miserable." Moira paused a few moments longer before she released her grasp, and Tracer trembled slightly as the pain level ebbed.

So this woman was in control of her pain. Obey, and it would stay at a manageable (if never comfortable) level. If she didn't… well, she had already learned the repercussions of that.

* * *

"This is the result of millions of dollars and months of work? One girl?"

Moira glanced inside the small room, where Tracer was curled up in the corner, hands pressed tightly to her head. She had already tried in vain to pull the suit off herself, and once she realized it was staying put, she had moved into her current position. "Sombra is one girl, and look at all the trouble she gets herself into."

"Are you comparing this girl to me?" Sombra said, sounding slightly offended.

Reaper ignored the hacker as he said, "If she is the weapon you claim she is, I don't understand how you expect a suit to keep her in line. She could easily turn on us."

Moira rolled her eyes; her colleagues' lack of imagination really was disheartening at times. "The suit keeps her nerves perpetually suspended in a low level of pain; if she does as she is told, her mind is directed on something else besides the pain, which motivates her to obey. If she disobeys, we can increase the amount of pain she feels."

"And that will work?"

Moira reached over to pinch Reaper's arm, and he let out a growl.

"There, now, do you still feel like asking moronic questions?"

"No."

"My point is proven. Pain is life's natural motivator. People will go to great lengths to avoid it, and I have used it to break her will, and reshape her the way I wish." Moira looked back at Tracer, a slight smile crossing her face. "The Talon assassin program will be a success."


	2. Chapter 2

"Remember to fully breathe first, and then hold your breath. You need to put yourself in the right mindset."

"Yes, I remember." Amélie lowered her rifle, focusing on keeping her hands from shaking.

Ana frowned slightly, approaching the French woman. "You don't need to force yourself to do this, you know—"

"I am capable."

"I have no doubt about that, and I am not calling your skill into question. You know how many times I have told you that it takes a certain mindset to do what we do; I am just concerned that you may not be there yet."

Amélie didn't reply, instead ejecting the empty magazine and reloading a full one. She honestly didn't know if she was in the right mental state to be a sniper again; shooting at targets was entirely different than shooting at a living human being, and part of Amélie feared that if she went back out into the field, she would see Gerard through her scope.

"Amélie?" Ana was slightly concerned by the French woman's lack of response, and she had a feeling Amélie was drifting off inside her mind again.

Amélie managed to pull herself back to reality, and she raised her rifle again. "I'm ready; deploy the next set of targets."

* * *

They had given her some sort of ability… the tall woman called it "blinking". She wasn't entirely sure how they had managed that; all Tracer knew was that she could move across short distances very quickly, quickly enough that the training bots she fought couldn't track her. She had also discovered early on that her suit allowed her to cling to the walls; she had used these abilities in conjunction in an attempt to escape, but the tall woman had easily put a stop to that. The punishment had been an increase in her pain for who knows how long.

That was her current situation: cowering on the floor, clutching her head tightly as she waited for the overwhelming pain to subside.

"Have you finished?"

It had only been a short time since she'd been "awake", but Tracer recognized that voice instantly. She managed to nod, though her position didn't change. A few moments passed before the pain level finally began to decrease, and Tracer was able to unfold herself.

"I advised you to learn quickly; you would do well to take my advice." Moira observed the young woman on the floor, mentally taking notes on her behavior. It was obvious that Tracer responded to pain, but that was nothing unexpected. Of course she had expected some sort of escape attempt, but she was surprised at how quickly Tracer had adapted to her new abilities. The geneticist had expected it would take Tracer at least a day or two to get a handle on her blinking, and another for navigating wall travel. Yet she seemed to quite adept at both in just one short day.

"I've brought your meal," Moira continued, going over to the wall and opening a panel, which allowed her to unfold a small table and a stool on each side. She set the tray she was carrying on the table before she turned her attention back to Tracer.

Tracer didn't move, though her eyes tracked the geneticist as she moved.

"Well, come now; you're not going to eat on the floor like an animal. There's no reason you can't act civilized when the situation calls for it."

Tracer paused a moment longer before she got to her feet and approached the table, sitting on the stool as she eyed Moira warily.

"Now, once you've finished eating, you will continue your testing. I would not suggest any more escape attempts; even if you managed to get out of the room and past the first set of guards, you would never make it outside the facility." Moira wasn't sure exactly how much of her words were getting through to the brunette, seeing as how Tracer was currently wolfing down her food. Moira grimaced slightly; she would have to tend to matters such as etiquette at a later date.

As Tracer ate, the taste of the food didn't much register, but she knew she was hungry. The tall woman was saying something, but the brunette wasn't really listening, more focused on eating. All too soon, the food was gone, and Tracer was once again left with nothing to distract her from her constant pain. She let out a frustrated noise, which caught Moira's attention.

"I see you've finished. Pick up your tray and follow."

Tracer looked at her for a moment, her hands clenching and unclenching a few times.

"Pick up your tray and follow," Moira repeated, a bit more forcefully this time.

A few more moments before Tracer stood, picking up the tray as she had been told.

"Good, you're learning." Moira folded the table and stools back into the wall before she closed the panel. She turned and left the room, glancing back to see if Tracer was following.

Tracer kept her gaze on her tray as she followed the tall woman down the hallway. For a brief moment, she considered running and making another escape attempt.

 _You don't have to be what they want._

There was that small part of her brain again, the part that desperately wanted her to remember her true identity. She could barely hear that part of her brain anymore through the state of pain she was kept it, but it still persisted, even when she thought it had disappeared for good.

 _Obey or the pain will get worse. You know this._

So Tracer did as she was told, following Moira obediently to another room.

"Set the tray on the counter," Moira said, looking back at Tracer.

The brunette did so, and Moira nodded. Simple tasks, but progress nonetheless.

"Good. Now follow."

* * *

The others were all eating dinner; Amélie could hear the clinking of silverware against plates, along with ambient chatter and hearty laughter. The French woman was hungry, but the thought of being surrounded by so many people felt too overwhelming. They always looked at her differently, as if they weren't entirely sure how they should act around her. They didn't ostracize her by any means; if anything, they tried too hard to include her. They wanted her to feel like she belonged, but Amélie always felt like an outsider looking in; she had felt that way since she'd been kidnapped. Even when Gerard was still alive, there were times when he had trouble connecting with his wife after her rescue.

Looking back now, Amélie wished she had found a better way to express how she'd felt, instead of shutting Gerard out and pretending everything was okay.

The French woman sighed from where she was perched in the rafters, taking another sip from her wine glass. If the others found her hiding spot, she was sure they would think it odd that she chose such a place, but from this height, Amélie felt relatively safe. She could see everything and everyone, and the threat of being snuck up on was minimal, if nonexistent.

Amélie watched the others file from the kitchen upon finishing; Reinhardt and Torbjorn were laughing about something, Fareeha and Angela were walking hand in hand… everyone seemed to have someone, for support in one way or another. It was too hard, being the odd one out, despite how hard they tried to include her.

The kitchen was most likely empty now. Amélie finished her wine before she stood, securing her grappling line before she descended, landing almost silently. The line retracted and Amélie made her way into the kitchen, setting her empty wine glass beside the sink.

"Avoiding everyone in the rafters again?

Amélie paused from where she'd been gathering her dinner materials. "It's too noisy when everyone is present," she replied, resuming her dinner preparation.

Ana let out a noise of agreement, watching her apprentice. "I suppose you do prefer the quiet, especially considering the path you've chosen here." The captain watched Amélie a few moments longer, trying to read the French woman (which was a little difficult considering Amélie had her back to her).

Amélie knew Ana was trying to figure her out, and she did her best to remain neutral. She felt scrutinized and analyzed enough by Angela; she didn't need it from her mentor too. "Is there anything else?" Amélie asked.

"I just thought I would keep you company."

Amélie set her jaw; this was the exact thing she wanted to avoid. "I can keep my own company."

"I am aware, so perhaps it will be better for me to be forward with you: allowing you to isolate yourself is not healthy. I understand that you do not enjoy crowds, and that is acceptable, but there is a limit." Ana approached the French woman so that she was no longer talking to her back. "We're just worried about you; what you went through was traumatizing—"

"Do not start down that conversation path; I have it enough with Angela," Amélie interrupted. "And if it pleases you, you can keep me company."

As usual, Ana would be getting her way.

* * *

"Your session today will be different than usual," Moira said as she secured the long red blades to the elbows of Tracer's armor. Tracer was adept with the weapons, but they were far too deadly to be left with the brunette without supervision. "Hold still," the redhead added as she placed a helmet over Tracer's head. The red eyes soon lit up, and Moira added, "Can you see?"

Tracer nodded.

"Good. This will allow you to see heat signatures through walls." Moira pressed a button on the helmet, and Tracer looked around the room. "You can press the button again to turn that mode off. Do you understand?"

Tracer nodded again, turning her attention back to Moira.

"Your task will be to identify and eliminate this subject." Moira handed the brunette a photograph, and Tracer looked down at the rabbit depicted. "Do you understand?"

Tracer nodded, and Moira took the photograph away before she left the room, closing the door and locking it behind her. She moved to the observation window, where Reaper and Sombra were already present.

"So remind me why you took away her voice?" Sombra asked, looking at the geneticist. "Wouldn't it be easier if she could actually respond?"

"Talking is a form of free will, and can be used to slowly wear people down, much as you often do to me," Moira replied. The geneticist crossed her arms, the long nails of her right hand strumming against her arm. "I still don't see why we had to use one of my rabbits for this test."

"He bit me," Reaper replied.

"Well, that's hardly his fault; you were handling him incorrectly. If any man handled me in such a way, biting is the least I would do."

A pause, followed by, "I thought you were gay?"

"So you see my point."

Sombra did nothing to hide her laugh while Reaper scowled behind his mask.

A door inside the room opened, and Tracer turned as a solitary rabbit entered.

"Okay, explain the rabbit," Sombra said.

"We want Tracer to be an assassin, yes? We must ensure that she can kill, regardless of the target. If she can kill something non-threatening, such as a rabbit, that will start her on the path of eliminating the targets we assign to her," Moira replied. Really, she was tired of everyone questioning her methods. Did they not trust that she knew what she was doing?

Inside the room, Tracer's gaze fell on the rabbit, and she cocked her head slightly, watching its nose twitch. It didn't seem threatening… but it matched the picture she had been shown.

 _Kill it._

 _But why?_

 _Because that is what you have been told to do, now obey._

Tracer approached the rabbit, and while its tail twitched, it didn't try to run. The brunette paused for a moment before she swung decisively with one of her blades, not even giving the creature time to let out a noise of distress.

"Wow, she barely hesitated," Sombra said from where they were watching.

"As it should be," Moira said; while she wasn't entirely happy with the senseless murder of one of her rabbits, she was pleased with Tracer's progress; the assassin was coming along much quicker than she had predicted.

"This is a waste of time," Reaper growled, obviously not impressed by the display. "If you have reprogrammed her to be an assassin, why does she need to kill training bots and small animals? She should be able to eliminate targets—"

"And how would she know how to differentiate between an intended target and civilians? If we sent her out now, she would kill everything in her path; she needs to learn self-control," Moira said. "Trust me when I say this will be a success, but it cannot be rushed."

* * *

"How did your first training session go?"

"That was hardly my first."

Angela gave Amélie a look. "Your first session after your… hiatus."

Amélie shrugged. "Nothing terribly exciting. There were targets, and I shot at them."

Angela did her best to keep from sighing aloud; she knew that as a doctor treating a patient, she shouldn't get frustrated, but Amélie could be so aloof at times that she really made Angela's job more difficult than it needed to be. The blonde wondered just how much of that was intentional, and how much of it was just Amélie herself.

"Anything you'd like to elaborate on?" Angela probed.

Amélie knew why she had these sessions with the good doctor; they were supposed to help her talk about her feelings and help her heal. However, Amélie did not like talking about herself in this way; she didn't feel like it really did anything for her, and she did not care to open up to others. The last people she had allowed to know her on such an intimate level had been taken from her; she had learned her lesson.

"Amélie… we have been meeting for months now, and I have to ask: do you feel these sessions are helping you? Or are you just going through the motions?" Angela asked. "Because you do know that these are not for me, and if you feel as though they are not beneficial—"

"I do not enjoy talking about my emotions," Amélie said. Part of her felt guilty; she didn't want to waste Angela's time. Everyone thought therapy would be the best thing for her, though she hadn't stopped to consider whether she was doing it for herself or to appease everyone else.

"Is that all you think you can talk about with me?"

Amélie shrugged. "You want to hear about how I am faring since Gerard's murder; you all want to know what is going on inside my head. It's why everyone treats me differently, why you all try so hard to make me feel included because you think there is something wrong—"

"You keep saying 'you all'; do you feel as if we are on different sides? Do you consider this to be an 'us vs. you' situation?"

Amélie paused; she supposed Angela had a point. She did often feel as though she and the others were two sides of the same Overwatch coin; she was part of the team, yes, but she never really felt connected with the others. Amélie supposed she did have a tendency to think of situations as her against everyone else.

"I am the only one who was taken by Talon," Amélie said, her voice a bit softer. "No matter how much the others may try to understand, they cannot, even if I sat down and explained it to them. I was the only one who was there… the only one who experienced that nightmare…"

* * *

"Antonio wants to see the results of his investment—"

"Tracer is not ready to go out into the field," Moira interrupted, knowing where Reaper was headed. "There is a specific process that must be followed to ensure that the reprogramming works as intended. Taking her out now could interrupt the entire process, and undo all my work."

"Don't exaggerate."

"I said no, and that is the end of this conversation," Moira said, giving Reaper a stern look. "I will let you know when Tracer is ready for field work. Until then, I need to keep a close eye on her and monitor her behavior."

Reaper looked around the room, pausing a moment before he said, "I know I'm not a science person like you, but doesn't your 'subject' need to be present for you to monitor her?"

Moira's brow furrowed. "What sort of nonsense are you spouting now, of course she's present—" The redhead did a quick survey and realized that Tracer was indeed absent. Though she couldn't see the look on Reaper's face, she was sure he was relishing the moment. "It would appear she has wandered off."

"So there's an assassin loose in our base?"

"We'll find her shortly, I'm sure."

"Sure, once we hear the screams of people being murdered."

Moira gave him a look. "Don't be absurd, she doesn't have her blades and she hasn't been given a target."

There was a sudden string of very fast (and presumably very angry or annoyed) Spanish, followed by "Oh Doctor, your subject is wandering, specifically into my room!"

"See, as I said, easily located."

Moira could practically feel the judgment coming from Reaper before he said, "Should be concerned for Sombra's safety?"

"I am never concerned about Sombra's safety, whether it be with Tracer or in general," Moira replied flatly before she left the room, making her way towards the hacker's room.

Upon reaching their destination, they found one very irate Sombra, who was sitting at her desk, apparently trying to shoo Tracer away.

"You know, I don't have a problem with your experiments, but that doesn't mean you can let her wander free," the hacker said upon seeing Moira.

"Has she done anything to actively harm you, or are you just acting like a privileged child who doesn't want to deal with a sibling?" Moira asked, crossing her arms.

"She's your project; I shouldn't have to be responsible for her."

"Tracer."

The brunette looked up from where she had been inspecting the many glowing monitors, recognizing the tone of the tall woman.

"Come here."

Tracer paused for a moment, trying to figure out if she were in trouble. She hadn't been put in the room, and she hadn't been stopped when she'd wandered off; it hadn't occurred to her that maybe she was supposed to stay without being told. After pausing a moment longer, she approached the tall woman.

"She listens to you, sure…" Sombra muttered.

"You do not command the presence required to control her; she simply does not take you seriously, but I'm sure you are used to that."

Sombra rolled her eyes. "Oh, very funny, you got me. Just keep her out of my room."


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was just beginning to rise over the snow-covered Swiss Alps, and Amelie sipped her coffee as she watched it, her sniper rifle lying beside her. She enjoyed this time of day, when the world seemed quiet, and she almost felt at peace. The sniper enjoyed the view for a few minutes longer before she finished her coffee and got to her feet, picking up her rifle. She wanted to get to the shooting range before the others woke up and she'd have an audience; it was difficult enough just training under Ana's watchful eye.

Amelie left the roof of the training facility, lowering herself onto the walkway and making her way to the shooting range. It was empty, and the only sound came from her boots echoing off the walls as she walked. The sniper pressed a button to start the procession of the target set, and she raised her gun, peering through the scope.

 _Stay low, go fast._

First trigger pull. Bulls-eye.

 _Kill first, die last._

Another pull. Another bot down.

 _One shot, one kill._

Third bullet, third elimination.

 _Not luck, all skill._

It was the mantra Ana had taught her the first day she took Amelie as her apprentice, and the sniper often had to repeat it to herself to put herself in the right headspace.

"Nice shooting."

Amelie paused upon hearing Fareeha's voice, and the younger Amari was soon beside her, a pistol in her hand. The sniper chose not to reply, instead trying to block Fareeha out as she turned her attention back to the targets.

 _Stay low, go fast—_

There was the sound of rapid gunfire beside her, and Amelie glanced over to see that Fareeha had fired off four shots, each one hitting the bullseye. The younger Amari seemed to notice Amelie watching (or she had wanted the sniper's attention all along) because she smiled in that same smug way Ana did.

Oh, so she wanted a shoot-off then. Amelie knew she really shouldn't give in to such childish challenges, but a part of her couldn't help it; the younger Amari needed to be put in her place.

Amelie raised her rifle again, firing off four shots as well and hitting all her marks. She fired off a fifth, which crossed the boundary between her and Fareeha's set of targets, hitting the bulls-eye.

Fareeha gave the sniper a look before she reloaded and raised her pistol again, this time hitting each of the bulls-eyes on Amelie's side.

It was time to step it up. Amelie reloaded before she shot her grappling hook at the ceiling. The sniper was soon upside-down, and she raised her rifle, hitting each of the bulls-eyes on Fareeha's side as well as her own. The sniper lowered herself back to the floor and released her grapple, giving Fareeha a look.

" _You're quite adept with that gun; remind me to stay on your good side."_

 _Gerard was standing next to her at the shooting range, and she could tell he was doing his best to look impressive._

" _Perhaps you'd like to give me an answer on that dinner?" he added._

 _Amelie looked down at her gun with a slight smile. "When you can outshoot me, then we'll talk."_

Amelie dropped her rifle, and it clattered to the floor. Her hands were shaking badly, too much for her to hide from Fareeha, and she held them close to her body, trying to focus on her breathing.

"Amelie? Are you all right?" Fareeha asked, concern immediately taking over her features.

"Fine," the French woman replied, not trusting her voice to elaborate.

"Do you want me to call Angela—"

"No." Amelie chose to flee, leaving her rifle behind.

* * *

Moira scowled as she reread her paper for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Something about it rubbed her the wrong way, but she couldn't seem to figure out just what it was. She scrolled back to the beginning, determined to figure out what the problem was.

The redhead suddenly became aware of a slight pressure against her arm and she looked down to see Tracer sitting beside her, leaning against her almost like a child would do to a parent. She hadn't even heard the assassin approach; the last time she'd checked on Tracer, the brunette was sitting in her room, staring absently at the wall.

This did not sit well with Moira in the slightest.

"Sit up," she said sternly, resisting the impulse to push Tracer off herself. Her main concern was what the others would think if they saw such a display; Sombra would never let her hear the end of it, that was for sure.

Tracer did as she was told and sat up, though the implications of the action were slightly troubling. Moira could reprogram Tracer, but she had forgotten the basic human need for socialization and attachment. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to edit that basic need out of the human genome.

And apparently Tracer had formed an attachment to the geneticist.

The door to Moira's lab opened, and the two looked up to see Reaper entering.

"Antonio is on his way."

Moira scowled. "I see he is as impatient as every man."

"He has had enough of your 'stalling'; he wants to see what his money has gone towards." Reaper looked at Tracer before he added, "I would suggest getting her ready."

Moira let out a long sigh before she set her tablet down; she did not appreciate uninvited guests in her lab, and Antonio was certainly that. She also did not appreciate being forced to show off her work like a prized horse, but it was obvious that she would not have a choice in this matter.

"Hopefully this is something that can be wrapped up quickly; I am very busy, and Tracer is not meant to be shown off on demand," the redhead said, getting to her feet. She moved to retrieve Tracer's helmet, and Reaper caught her arm.

"Don't forget why this project of yours was funded in the first place; the Talon assassin is meant to be a weapon," he said.

"I am perfectly aware of what the aim of this project is," Moira said, pulling her arm from his grasp. "If you are implying something else, say it outright."

Reaper knew that was a challenge, and he chose not to respond.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must prepare Tracer, as you have so eloquently put it," Moira added, picking up the helmet and approaching the brunette. "Stand."

Tracer did so, taking the helmet from Moira and putting it on.

"I am going to attach your blades now, but I would advise you to think very, very carefully before you do something reckless, such as trying to attack me. If you think you have experienced pain before, you are sorely mistaken."

Tracer knew Moira meant business, and she obediently stood still as the redhead attached the blades to her armor.

"Now, it is vital that you do exactly as you are told when Antonio arrives; we must prove to him that his funding has gone to a worthwhile cause," Moira continued. "Do you understand?"

Tracer nodded, and Moira certainly hoped that was true.

* * *

"Mom… are you sure Amelie is okay?"

Ana looked up to see her daughter standing in the doorway, holding Amelie's sniper rifle. "Did you do something to her?"

Fareeha made a face. "No! I mean… not directly."

Ana's brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"I don't know, we were practicing at the shooting ranger and without warning she just… I don't know, she froze up or something. She dropped her rifle and just left."

The captain stood and approached her daughter, taking the rifle from her. "I'm sure she's still just readjusting to agent life. I'll talk to her."

"Should we tell Angela?"

Ana shook her head. "Let me talk to Amelie first before we bring Angela into this."

* * *

Tracer didn't like Antonio from the moment he entered the lab. First off, he was surrounded by red-capped guards, all of whom were armed. That was something she wasn't entirely used to seeing, and it immediately made her uneasy. A noise of slight distress rose from the back of her throat, and Moira gripped the back of her neck, her nails digging in hard enough to silence her.

"Dr. O'Deorain, you have been a hard woman to meet with," Antonio said as he approached the geneticist.

"I'm busy, and my time is valuable," Moira replied.

"As is mine. I have come to see this assassin project I have been funding, since you refuse to bring any evidence to my office."

"I sent multiple messages, informing you that Tracer is not ready to be taken out of this facility."

Antonio's gaze fell on Tracer, and his brow furrowed before his expression changed to one of slight disgust. "This is where all my money went?" He shook his head before he added, "I was promised a weapon; this is a single woman."

"Do not be so quick to judge; I assure, once she is ready—"

"You have been given months already; if she cannot kill by now, then she is useless."

Moira set her jaw, not appreciating being interrupted or having her science questioned. "Reprogramming a human takes times; we are complex creatures, some more than others."

Antonio still looked skeptical, and after a pause, he said, "How about a demonstration then? Allow me to witness her claimed prowess myself?"

Moira knew she should have expected something like this; humans needed to see to believe. "Fine, I can have a subject brought in—"

"No need, I have brought one myself."

Moira's brow furrowed slightly, and she looked up in time to see a man in handcuffs and a blindfold being dragged into the room by two guards. She assumed it was someone who had run afoul of the Italian businessman, but if he had been brought here, then Antonio had intended to have Tracer kill him all along.

"This is irregular—" Moira started.

"She is an assassin, no? She was made to kill. Prove it, or you will lose your funding."

Moira gripped her arms tightly behind her back. She did not appreciate being given orders or ultimatums in her lab. "Hold him still," she said before she pulled out her phone and took a picture of the unfortunate man.

"Keeping a memento?"

"She is assigned her targets through photographs, unless you would prefer she murder all of us indiscriminately," Moira replied. She shook her head before she added, "Put him in that room."

The guards moved to do so, and Moira turned to face Tracer, holding her phone up. "This is your target. You will pursue and eliminate it; do you understand?"

Tracer studied the photo for a few moments before she nodded. It was impossible to read her expression behind her mask, and Moira could only hope that really did understand.

The redhead opened the door to the training room, saying, "Inside," as she gestured. Tracer entered as she was told, and Moira closed and locked the door behind her. The geneticist then moved to the observation window, watching the assassin and doing her best to ignore the Italian beside her.

"Please let me out!"

The voice caught Tracer's attention, and she turned her gaze on the man in the room with her. He was clawing at the walls, apparently trying to get out, and Tracer quickly recognized him as her target.

 _Kill him._

 _No… he's not a threat._

 _Neither was the rabbit._

 _That was different…_

She was hesitating; this is what Moira had been afraid of. Moving Tracer onto human targets without the proper progression could undo all the progress she had made with the assassin. The redhead heard a sigh, and she knew that Antonio had to be getting impatient, more so than he already was. Though she was loathe to do so, she had to give Tracer a slight nudge Moira subtly reached into her sleeve and began to increase the pain output of Tracer's suit, her eyes trained on the brunette.

Tracer let out a growl at the sudden increase in pain, and her fists clenched tightly.

 _Make it stop, please just make it stop._

 _Kill him and it will._

The pain was overwhelming by now, taking over all her other senses. She couldn't take it; she needed to do something to make it stop. With a feral yell, Tracer blinked across the room, tacking her target to the floor and ignoring his shouts of protests and cries for mercy as she began attacking with her blades.

Moira cast a sideways glance at Antonio, who seemed pleased with the display. The redhead set the pain output back to the lower level, waiting for Tracer to stop.

She didn't.

"Enough," Moira said over the speaker.

Tracer knew she needed to stop, but she couldn't seem to make herself do so. The pain was forgotten, at least for the moment, and she desperately wanted it to stay that way. She barely registered the tall woman's voice over the speaker as she continued her attack, blood spattering on her armor and the wall.

Moira swore under her breath before she entered the room, catching Tracer in her biotic grasp. "Enough!" she repeated, sharper this time.

Tracer jumped back, turning her attention to Moira before she fell to her knees, her strength leaving her. She let out a few more feral noises, but she didn't have the energy to fight the geneticist. After a few more moments, Moira released her, and Tracer remained on the floor, her chest heaving slightly.

"Quite impressive," Antonio said, entering the room as well.

Moira didn't take her eyes off Tracer, knowing the assassin was most likely still highly volatile. "As you can see, she still needs to be trained—"

"She seems trained to me. You showed her a target, and she successfully eliminated it. Quite thoroughly, I might add."

Moira didn't want to take her gaze off Tracer, but she couldn't help but look at Antonio upon hearing that. "She has yet to learn self-restraint and control—"

"That's what my men are for."

"Your men wouldn't stand a chance against her."

Her logic seemed to fall on deaf ears; either that, or Antonio truly believed that Tracer wasn't as dangerous as Moira knew her to be. "Clean her up, and prepare her to be transported back with me."

Moira let out a noise of derision; she knew he would consider it disrespectful, but she just couldn't help it. "That is the stupidest thing ever uttered in my lab."

A displeased expression crossed Antonio's face at that. "What is your objection now?"

"My objections haven't changed; Tracer isn't ready to be taken out of this facility. You will not be able to exert any control over her; you cannot command her as you do your men."

"If I recall, it was my money that funded this project of yours, so by all accounts, she belongs to me."

Moira had several problems with that statement, the foremost being that if Tracer belonged to anyone, it was her. She was the one who had developed this program and had spent all the time and effort reprogramming Tracer. Money could not force research to advance any quicker, nor could it do what she could.

"I must strongly advise against this—"

"Your time with her has ended. I'm sure you'll find a new project to work on, but the assassin is mine."

* * *

"I think you might be missing something."

Amelie looked up at Ana's voice, seeing her mentor approaching with her sniper rifle. "Fareeha told you what happened then?"

"She mentioned you left while the two of you were shooting." Ana set the rifle on the bed before she said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Amelie's gaze was fixed on her rifle; she was afraid that touching it would trigger another memory of some kind, and she honestly didn't know if she could handle that. Her silence and thousand-yard-stare were not unnoticed by her companion.

"Perhaps we should have waited longer to return to training—"

"No… no, I can do it," Amelie said, looking up and refocusing on Ana. "I just…"

"What?"

Amelie looked down at her blue tinged fingers, not fully wanting to admit what she was thinking out loud. "When does it stop?" she asked, her voice soft.

Ana's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"When do I stop seeing his face? When do those memories stop hurting?" Amelie couldn't look at Ana, feeling exceedingly vulnerable. "When do I finally start feeling normal again?"

Ana didn't have an answer.


	4. Chapter 4

"Stand still."

Tracer did so, letting out a low grunt when the cold spray hit her. She turned her head away, water dripping off her spiked hair as Moira hosed the blood off her suit.

"Turn around."

Tracer let out a noise of protest, and Moira sprayed her in the face. The brunette sputtered a bit before she turned, feeling the water hit her back.

Moira dropped the hose upon finishing, letting out a sigh. There had been no changing Antonio's mind, and under the threat of losing his support and resources, the geneticist had had no choice but to give in. The very thought made her blood boil, and she desperately needed to pour herself a glass of whiskey. Or three.

"All my hard work, undone by impatience," Moira muttered, tossing a towel in Tracer's direction.

Tracer caught the towel with a yawping noise, looking at it for a few moments and not entirely sure what to do with it.

"Helpless, just like a child," Moira said, striding over to the assassin and taking the towel from her, beginning to dry her hair perhaps a bit rougher than intended.

Tracer let out several distressed noises, and Moira realized that she had been inadvertently taking out her frustrations on the brunette. The redhead lowered the towel, looking at the assassin. There was nothing more she could do for Tracer; if Antonio refused to listen, then he would have to deal with the consequences.

Moira knew she shouldn't care so much in the first place. Tracer was just an experiment, a weapon. Moira had to make sure she reminded herself of that as she looked at the brunette standing in front of her.

 _She's just an experiment._

* * *

Jack was troubled as he read over the most recent intelligence reports from Venice, and it must have shown in his face because upon entering the room, Ana said, "Well that isn't a reassuring expression."

The commander looked up at her entrance, setting the report down with a sigh. "Antonio is up to something."

"Isn't he always?" Ana said, sitting across from Jack.

"There's been an increase in activity around his estate. More men, transports going in and out…" Jack crossed his arms with a frown. "I don't like it; if he's planning something, we need to know about it so we can stop it."

Ana sighed. "Antonio is a very careful man. We haven't been able to gather any concrete evidence on him yet—"

"You know just as well as I do that he is involved with Talon."

"Yes, Jack, we all know that, but we cannot just accuse him without evidence, and he covers his tracks very well."

Jack shook his head, and Ana knew that he didn't like being told that he couldn't go after someone, especially someone they had been after for years.

"We at least need to know what he's up to; we can't be left in the dark if he is planning something," Jack said. "Do you think you would be able to perform some recon?"

Ana shrugged. "I don't see why not. What do you expect me to find?"

"I don't know; some kind of answers hopefully." Jack paused a moment before he added, "Do you think Amélie is up to going with you?"

The captain paused at that. She honestly didn't know what Amélie's mindset was, or if she was in the right place for a mission. "I will talk to her," Ana finally said.

* * *

"You're sulking."

Moira looked up from where she was drinking her whiskey, her feet propped up on her desk. "I do not sulk," the geneticist said, the ice in her glass clinking as she finished off her drink.

Sombra's gaze fell on the half-filled bottle of whiskey on the desk. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Moira almost growled, setting her glass down and letting her feet hit the ground with a solid thud. "Do you expect me to tell you how frustrated I am that all my research and work has gone down the drain because of one man's ignorance and impatience?"

Sombra shrugged. "I mean, if you want to."

Moira gave her a look, but she was too mentally drained to fight with the hacker. She let out a sigh, covering her eyes with a hand.

"So, honestly, what do you think will happen?"

Moira sighed again, lowering her hand. "Tracer does not possess the self-control an assassin needs. In a relatively short span of time, her anger and attacks will escalate, and she will begin to kill indiscriminately. I wouldn't be surprised if Antonio is dead within the week."

Sombra's eyebrows rose at that, though she had no doubt that Moira was right. "Should we do anything to stop it?"

"What more can we do? He has refused to listen to me; let him suffer the consequences of his actions."

Sombra supposed that was fair. "What about Tracer?"

Moira paused a long moment before she poured herself another glass of whiskey, and she chose not to respond, which told Sombra all she needed to know.

* * *

It had been quite some time since Amélie had donned her Overwatch uniform, and the French woman looked at herself in the mirror, taking a deep breath.

 _It's just a recon mission. You're just going in to gather intelligence, and then you're out. No sniping required._

Amélie certainly hoped that was true. When Ana had approached her regarding the assignment, the French woman had frozen up at first. The thought of going back out into the field seemed initially overwhelming, until Ana had explained what exactly the mission would entail.

The sniper paused a moment longer before she picked up her rifle and left the room, heading out to the waiting transport. She found Ana already present, and the captain straightened up as she approached.

"I'll have to take points off for improper uniform," Ana said with a slight smile.

"I'm wearing my uniform—"

"Not all of it."

Amélie set her jaw. "No."

"Come now, I don't make the rules—"

"You're a founding member, of course you make the rules!"

Ana laughed. "So maybe I do, but don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Amélie let out a long sigh, but reluctantly pulled her beret from her pocket, putting it on grudgingly as she muttered about Overwatch being less than fashion forward.

"There, now that isn't so terrible, is it?"

"Let's just go," Amélie said, knowing she should expect this type of teasing from her mentor.

Ana chuckled, but entered the transport, Amélie close behind. The two sat as the door closed, and they soon took off.

* * *

Tracer had never been outside of the facility; she hadn't even fully realized that an "outside" existed. Up until now, her world had consisted only of the few rooms she had been allowed in. However, as she was quickly discovering, being outside was not an improvement.

She didn't fully understand why she had to go with Antonio in the first place. She had just begun to get used to the tall woman, and had even begun to slip into a sort of routine. The tall woman hadn't even done anything to stop Antonio's men from dragging her away; when the men had seized her, Tracer had struggled against their hold and let out noises of protest. Her gaze fell on Moira, though no matter how hard she fought to return to the redhead, the tall woman had remained rooted to the spot, merely watching as Tracer was eventually dragged away.

Once outside, she had been forced into some sort of vehicle, and her hands had been put into restraints. The brunette had flashbacks to her time in the darkness, when she had been restrained then too, and she had struggled violently, trying to free herself.

Now she was being forcefully led into a different building, and she continued to struggle against the men holding her, letting out low growls. The men eventually dragged her to a room significantly smaller than the one she'd been held in at the other facility, and she was put into heavier restraints that held her still. The assassin tugged against her new restraints, her frustration growing. Being forced to remain still meant she had no outlet for her constant pain, which did nothing to help her mood.

Antonio approached the struggling assassin, catching her face harshly and forcing her to look at him. "You should adjust quickly to your new life here. You are a weapon, and will be treated as such. There will be no comfortable accommodations here—"

Tracer did not appreciate being grabbed in such a way, and her temper was already close to flaring. Without giving him a warning, Tracer bit whatever she could reach, which happened to be Antonio's fingers. She could feel something warm filling her mouth as he let out several swears, and the butt of a gun made contact with the side of her head. Stars burst in front of her eyes, though she didn't relinquish his finger, instead biting harder.

"Get this fucking thing off me!"

A guard hit her again, harder this time, and Tracer was forced off Antonio. She spit out a mouthful of blood before she let out a feral yell, struggling to get at her captor.

The Italian held his injured finger close, glaring at Tracer before he said, "Get the fucking doctor, and get a fucking muzzle on that thing!"

* * *

"Anything suspicious?"

Amélie let out an amused noise. "Everything here is suspicious."

Ana let out a quiet laugh. "Yes, well, I meant anything overtly suspicious."

The French woman shook her head and she continued to watch the estate through her scope. She and Ana had set up on a nearby roof to survey the estate, lying on their stomachs to minimize their chance of being spotted.

"Jack said there was a reported increase in guards, but I don't see how we can confirm that," Ana said.

Amélie didn't respond as she continued to survey, her scope suddenly falling on a man that seemed familiar, though she couldn't recall why. He was dressed in a suit and had a few golden adornments on his face. His hand was wrapped in white bandages, and Amélie could see a few red spots bleeding through.

"Spot something?" Ana asked, noticing Amélie's demeanor.

"Second window from the right," Amélie replied, not entirely sure how to describe what she was feeling.

Ana directed her scope towards said window, letting out a noise of affirmation. "There's Antonio himself; I wonder what happened to his hand. Looks recent."

Amélie didn't reply, instead continuing to watch Antonio. There was something about him that was just so familiar, and she couldn't quite place her finger on it. Still, something in the back of her mind tugged at her, telling her that this man was wrong, had wronged her somehow. Amélie wasn't aware of the fact that her finger was slowly tightening on the trigger of her rifle; all she was aware of was the man in the crosshairs.

Ana looked over at her companion, perhaps to make some other comment about the Italian, and she noticed Amélie's body language, as well as her finger on the trigger. That stopped whatever Ana had been about to say, and she quickly pushed the barrel of Amélie's rifle down.

Amélie let out a growl when Antonio suddenly disappeared form her scope, and she looked over at Ana, ready to lash out at her mentor.

"Easy," Ana said sternly. "We are only here for recon, and killing Antonio would be suicide for us and for Overwatch."

It struck Amélie then just what she had been about to do, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. She had been about to kill someone without even realizing it; it was almost as if her instincts had taken over and she wasn't in control of her actions.

* * *

"It is highly unusual for you to call on me so unexpectedly." Maximilien sat across from Antonio, his men standing behind him. "And alone, I might add."

"I was wondering if you might be interested in investing in a new project," Antonio said.

"What might this project be?"

Antonio pressed a button on his desk, and a few moments later, Tracer was brought in, struggling against the guards holding her, as well as trying to break free from her restraints. The combination of being restrained and gagged had pushed Tracer's temper to the edge, and she felt as though she were about to explode.

Maximilien did not look impressed. "I was under the impression that this was Dr. O'Deorain's latest venture."

"She passed it over to me, and she has merely laid the groundwork. We can use this prototype to develop other successful models of the assassin."

"So you want to profit off O'Deorain's research?" Maximilien shook his head. "You are daring, Antonio, to risk the doctor's wrath that way."

Antonio frowned slightly, though he didn't let the omnic see his demeanor change. "Perhaps you would like to see an example of her prowess?"

Maximilien's gaze traveled from the bandage on Antonio's hand to the still struggling Tracer. He motioned towards his men, who raised their weapons and kept them trained on Tracer.

"I thought you knew me better than that—" the Italian started as he discreetly began to increase the pain output of Tracer's suit.

"I am not so trusting to believe that you would not try to assassinate me," the omnic said.

Pain.

So much pain.

She just wanted it to stop.

Tracer vaguely registered that her restraints had been loosened, and her gaze fell on the figures in front of her, barely registering who or what they were. All she knew was that she had been denied an outlet for the pain and rage building up, and upon feeling the restraints fall away, the assassin finally saw red and snapped.

 _If you kill them, the pain will go away._

The assassin let out a muffled yell before she tackled the first guard, driving her blades into his body. She leapt onto the next guard before he could grab her, attacking him with her blades as well. Before the others could register where she was, Tracer blinked away, clinging to the side of the wall. With another muffled yell, she blinked forward, tackling another guard and using her blades on two others. She became little more than a flurry of movement as she cut through the guards, who could barely keep track of her long enough to even fire a shot.

There was just one figure left now. Tracer let out another yell before she began to charge towards him, her blades scraping against the floor. She tackled him to the floor before she began to attack him relentlessly with her blades, barely registering the blood that spattered onto her face and armor.

 _Just make the pain go away._

* * *

"Antonio is dead."

The statement barely fazed Moira in the slightest, and she didn't even bother to look up from her tablet. "What a surprise."

"We need to move in before Overwatch arrives," Reaper continued, not entirely appreciating Moira's nonchalant demeanor. "They were already keeping tabs on him, and we can't let them find evidence linking him back to Talon, or Tracer."

Moira paused. She honestly didn't expect to find Tracer alive; if she had been kept in confinement without sleep or proper nutrition, and then had gone on a killing spree… more than likely her heart would have given out. Still, the body would be worth recovering, and she definitely wanted to keep it out of Overwatch's hands, specifically one blonde doctor.

"Fine, but let's make this quick."

* * *

"How did the mission go?"

Amélie glanced at Ana before her gaze went to the floor. She was sure the captain would tell Jack everything that had happened, including her almost attempt on Antonio's life.

"We observed guard activity, but it seemed normal. We didn't see any suspicious transports arriving or departing the estate," Ana said. "I honestly don't think he's up to anything Jack."

Amélie paused, but apparently Ana had told the commander everything she thought was important. Slowly, the sniper realized that she was not going to be in trouble, and a wave of relief washed over her. She had been lucky this time; she had lined up her shot, but she hadn't been given the chance to take it. Next time she had a feeling she might not be so lucky; if no one was there to stop her, who knows what she could do.


	5. Chapter 5

"Realistically, how many people could Tracer kill before being overwhelmed?"

"Realistically?" Moira repeated, looking at Reaper. "I don't think that number exists."

Reaper's mask didn't change, but she assumed his expression did.

"I was tasked with creating an assassin whose sole purpose is to kill, and that is what I did. Granted, the process was accelerated far quicker than it should have been, but Tracer's heart will give out before she is killed by any of Antonio's men," Moira added.

"So what's that number then?" Sombra asked, looking up from the purple screens projected in front of her. "How many can she kill before her heart explodes?"

"Her heart won't explode, and I don't know the exact number; I don't know the type of care Tracer has been given, though I would suspect it is less than adequate. That coupled with the fact that she is new to killing… I would hazard a guess around a few dozen killings?"

"That's still significant," Reaper said. "And with one of them being Antonio, the facility will be on high alert. Getting in won't be easy."

"Let me worry about the logistics," Sombra said, having turned her attention back to her screens. "For such a rich man, Antonio has a poor cyber security system. Once we arrive, it'll be lights out."

* * *

Amélie had just finished her breakfast and emerged from the kitchen when she noticed the others gathered in the command room, causing her brow to furrow. She had thought the kitchen unusually empty this morning, and if everyone had been called in, then something significant had occurred. The French woman bristled slightly; so they were interested in including her unless it involved Overwatch business? They were deciding what she could handle for her?

Jack was on his feet, gesturing to a screen projected above the table in the middle of the room, and Amélie could see a picture of Antonio among the data. Her stomach clenched, and she wondered if Ana had given her up after all. The sniper quickly strode to the command room, taking a deep breath before she pulled the door open.

"What's going on?" the French woman asked, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt, especially with all eyes on her.

Jack paused in his briefing at Amélie's entrance, and she felt a bit self-conscious as the others looked at her as well, though she refused to back down.

"Just a briefing on a situation," Jack replied.

"About Antonio? We were just in Venice," Amélie persisted. "Was something wrong with our report?"

"No, but the situation in Venice has changed—"

"Such as?"

The French woman was met with silence.

"I'm still an agent, _non_? I do not wish to be kept in the dark," Amélie continued; she felt somewhat like a petulant child, pleading her case like this, but if they wanted her to feel part of the team, then why would they exclude her from a briefing?

Jack looked towards Ana, and the captain shrugged, pulling out the chair beside her. "Have a seat, Amélie," she said.

The French woman paused for a moment before she sat in the offered chair, doing her best to ignore the way the others were looking at her, and what they were most likely thinking ("Can she handle this? Is this too much for her?").

"As I said, Antonio Bartalotti is dead," Jack said, gesturing to the photo Amélie had seen earlier.

"That's quite a feat; last time Blackwatch tried to get at him, we were almost mowed down by his men," McCree said. "Man is practically untouchable."

"Apparently not anymore."

"Do we know who killed him?" Ana asked.

Jack shook his head. "All we know is that he is dead. Antonio was a major player for Talon, mainly supporting them financially. Of course, we were never able to acquire evidence to prove that definitively, but his sudden murder does leave a void in their organization, a void that others will attempt to fill. We need to prepare ourselves for whatever may be coming."

* * *

Getting into the estate proved to be a bit easier than Reaper had stated. Once Sombra has disabled the power grid, plunging everything into darkness, it had just been a simple matter of sneaking past the guards.

"Something isn't right," Sombra said as they reached the wing holding Antonio's office. "This is where _El Jefe_ hangs out, _si_? I would have expected to see heavier security here, but the hallways are empty."

Moira paused, pressing her lips together to form a thin line. She didn't want to admit it, but Sombra had a point. This was the area where they should have encountered the heaviest resistance, yet it seemed as though they would just be able to walk in.

"Tracer?" Reaper asked.

"It is entirely possible, though I don't see any bodies," Moira replied. "Let us continue forward."

The three did, eventually reaching Antonio's office. The double doors were closed, and upon giving them a tug, they found that they were locked as well. Reaper paused a moment before he drew his shotguns, blasting at the lock a few times before kicking the doors open.

"The epitome of discreet," Moira said, rolling her eyes.

"It got the job done," Reaper replied as the three entered the room.

" _Dios mio_ …" Sombra seemed to sum up the feelings of the group as they discovered the grisly scene inside. Bodies were strewn across the floor, and blood spatter covered the walls. "I guess we know what happened to all the guards in this area."

"To be expected," Moira said as she scanned the room. Antonio's legs could be seen on the other side of his desk, and Moira approached, discovering that his top half had not fared so well.

"I don't see her in here," Reaper said.

Moira turned her attention to the blood trail leading away from the desk and through another door. The redhead began to follow it, eventually ending up in a small room. Her gaze fell on the empty restraints on the wall, and eventually fell on a small figure huddled in the corner.

 _So you crawled back in here to die—_

The figure suddenly shuddered, and Moira's eyebrows rose. She was somehow still alive, but the geneticist didn't know for how much longer. One thing she did know was that she would have to approach the assassin very carefully.

She just wanted it to end. Tracer wondered if death would have been better; if dying meant she would stop feeling this overwhelming pain, then she would gladly accept that. The assassin curled up closer to herself, her eyes closed so tightly that she could hear little more than the static in her own head. Her breathing was labored, and seemed far louder than she remembered.

"Tracer."

The assassin's eyes snapped open at the sound of her name, and she looked over to see a tall figure standing over her, a stark silhouette against the light. Tracer let out a hiss as she tried to press herself further into the corner.

Moira hadn't expected to feel… what was it, sympathy? Pity? She wasn't entirely sure; perhaps it was a mixture of those as she looked down at the huddled form the assassin. In all honesty, Moira was surprised Tracer was even still alive; the assassin was obviously built tougher than she had given her credit for.

However, it appeared that Tracer was in so much pain that she wasn't in control of her facilities because she didn't seem to recognize the geneticist.

"She's alive—" Sombra started, but Moira pushed the hacker back, her gaze on Tracer.

"Unless you want to end up like Antonio, I suggest you both stand back and allow me to handle this," Moira said. Slowly the redhead approached, and Tracer let out another hiss, though she didn't try to attack. Moira stooped down in front of her, and Tracer pressed herself further into the wall, her chest heaving.

"Easy," Moira said, reaching for her helmet and slowly removing it.

Tracer's eyes were frenzied as they flashed around the room, and Moira could see a trace of fear in them as well. The redhead noticed the muzzle on the assassin, and though she knew she would be risking losing a finger, she reached over to gently undo it.

Tracer flinched at Moira's approaching hands, and the geneticist paused, withdrawing a bit.

"Do you want that off or not?" the redhead said before she began to reach for it again.

Tracer didn't flinch this time, but she didn't take her eyes off the geneticist while she worked, and when Moira set the muzzle aside, the brunette took a deep breath, revealing the bloodstains on her teeth.

Moira frowned; they obviously had taken very poor care of Tracer during her brief stint here. "I know the pain is overwhelming, and I know you want it to stop, but you have to endure it just a bit longer. We can take you back to our facility—"

An alarm suddenly began to sound, followed by a flashing red light. Tracer let out a warning noise, and Moira could tell she would quickly lose whatever control she had managed to gain over the assassin.

"I thought you disabled the power grid," Reaper growled, looking at Sombra.

"I did! They must have a backup generator that isn't wired into the main system," Sombra replied, pulling up her screens.

The door to the small room suddenly closed, and Tracer let out another warning noise.

"Ay, _esto es una mierda_ ," Sombra muttered before she suddenly translocated out of the room.

"Sombra, the door," Reaper growled over the comm system.

"I'm working on it," the hacker replied.

Reaper let out another irritated growl before he looked back at Moira. "We need to go before more guards flood this area; is she coming with us or not?"

"Yes—"

Tracer suddenly blinked forward, the edge of her blade catching Moira's cheek. The geneticist swore as she quickly straightened up, a few blood drops hitting the floor. She tried to catch the assassin in her biotic grasp, but Tracer blinked again, clinging to the wall.

"We don't have time for this," Reaper growled, drawing his shotguns. He fired at the brunette and she blinked again, letting out a feral yell.

"You're only making her angrier," Moira said, pushing one of his shotguns down.

"Well what else do you suggest—"

Tracer suddenly blinked again, hitting the floor and charging for Reaper, who quickly used his wraith form, causing her to go through him. The assassin paused in slight confusion, and Moira took the opportunity to summon a biotic orb, sending it at the brunette. She didn't know if more pain would ease the situation, but at this point, incapacitating Tracer was most likely their best course of action.

Tracer could feel something sapping her energy, and she let out a yell, trying to slice through the purple orb with her blades. It refused to let up, and the assassin soon fell to her knees, feeling Moira's biotic grasp seize her shortly afterwards.

"Are you finished?" Moira asked, not taking the chance of approaching yet.

Tracer let out a noise from the back of her throat, but at this point, the pain had become so consuming that the threat of blacking out was very real, and spots were dancing in front of her eyes.

Moira seemed to recognize that Tracer was close to unconsciousness, and she held her biotic grasp on Tracer until the brunette finally collapsed and went still. Moira finally released her grasp, approaching the motionless assassin.

The door to the room suddenly opened, revealing Sombra on the other side. "Oh, did I miss all the fighting? _Lo siento_."

"You're not sorry at all," Reaper growled, tossing his used shotguns to the floor. "Let's just go before we attract any more attention."

* * *

Amélie hadn't expected to be back in Venice so soon, and she wasn't sure if she should feel insulted with the addition of Angela on their team. She knew why Angela had joined them: to examine Antonio's body for herself. She was a doctor, after all, though Amélie couldn't help but feel that part of the reason was to keep an eye on the sniper.

Upon arriving at the estate, the team found that it had been abandoned, which was a far cry from how it had been just a few days prior.

"They sure left in a hurry," Ana said as they observed the empty estate from an adjacent roof. "I doubt we'll find Antonio's body."

"They may have left something behind," Amélie said. "We should investigate regardless."

Ana let out a noise of affirmation, lowering her rifle.

"Should we prepare for any traps or residual resistance?" Angela asked.

Ana shook her head as she got to her feet. "I do not believe so; it appears they were most concerned with getting out. We won't know how dedicated they were to covering their tracks until we go in."

"Then let us go," Amélie said, standing as well.

The team was cautious upon entering the estate, but it appeared as though what Ana had said was true; they had seemed more concerned with just leaving than ensuring that everything had been cleaned up.

"I don't see any signs that any massive force came through here," Ana said as they made their way through the estate.

"A single agent, perhaps?" Angela asked.

"They must be one hell of an agent; getting past all of Antonio's men and right to him?" Amélie shook her head.

Upon reaching the doors to Antonio's office, Ana paused, noticing the condition of said doors.

"Well someone obviously forced their way in," she said in reference to the damaged wood.

The three entered, and were met with the sight of blood-spattered walls and multiple bodies on the floor that looked as though they had been ripped apart.

 _Blood was pooled under Gerard's body as he lay in the bed motionless, his eyes still open and clouded over—_

Amélie forced that image away, clenching her fists tightly enough to dig her nails into her palms.

"They obviously weren't concerned with hiding any of these bodies," Ana said, kneeling beside one of the dead guards. "Your thoughts, Angela?"

The doctor knelt beside her, a troubled expression on her face. "However these men died, it wasn't pleasant. If I had to guess, I would say some sort of blade was used."

"One would think that so many armed men could take down someone using a blade," Ana said, straightening up with a slight frown.

"Perhaps we are dealing with a trained killer then," Amélie said.

Ana let out a noise of affirmation before she said, "We still have not fully cleared the estate; while it is unlikely that this killer is still here, we should make sure." The captain glanced towards the two sets of doors, and Amélie could almost see what she was thinking. The estate was large, and it would be more efficient to split up. "All right, I'll take the west wing here, and you and Angela—"

"I am fine on my own," Amélie said, already not liking where this was headed. Ana thought she needed someone to watch her, make sure she didn't momentarily lose control like before.

Ana gave the sniper a look, arching an eyebrow. "Amélie—"

"I'll be fine," Amélie repeated, sterner this time. She didn't need a babysitter, no matter what Ana might think.

Ana still didn't look convinced, but she apparently didn't want to argue in front of Angela, so she merely said, "Just stay in touch over your comm. And leave your beret alone!"

" _Oui capitaine_ ," Amélie replied as she started down the east hallway. As she walked, she kept her eyes peeled for any movement; whoever or whatever had killed all those men was obviously dangerous, and Amélie wasn't entirely looking forward to running into it.

An odd sound caught her attention, and Amélie paused, raising her rifle as she began to slowly make her way forward. The sniper rounded a corner, her gaze first falling on a painting on the floor, and then on a figure standing in front of an open safe.

"Don't move," Amélie said, her rifle trained on the figure.

The unknown person froze before turning to face the French woman, though they didn't put their hands up, and Amélie had a feeling they were ready to fight if need be. "Easy; I'm with Blackwatch."

Amélie's brow furrowed. "How can you be with Blackwatch, they were disbanded."

"Look, it's a complex situation, on a need to know basis."

"I trust you have the proper identification?"

"Of course."

Amélie reached into her shirt, pulling out her official Overwatch dogtags and insignia that were hanging around her neck. "Does it look like this?"

The woman seemed to realize then that she was made, and Amélie could practically see her mind racing. "Well, you guys are doing a great job, keep up the good work." She began to back towards a window, and Amélie took a step forward. "What, are you going to kill me?"

"No, but it would be hard for you to run with a bullet in your leg, _oui_?"

The woman seemed to consider this before she nodded. "All right, fine, you got me."

"Smart woman." Amélie approached the woman, keeping her rifle trained on her. "Now, you will return with me to my captain, and we will decide what to do—"

There was the sound of handcuffs closing, and Amélie looked down to see that the woman had managed to handcuff them together without the French woman even noticing.

 _Merde._


	6. Chapter 6

"She really got you, ay _mujer_?"

Moira scowled at Sombra from where she was using her biotic healing in an attempt to close the gash on her face. The redhead refused to admit to the vainness of the act, but in her defense, it would be a shame to mar a face such as hers. "She was backed into a corner and startled by sudden stimuli. She reacted as any frightened creature would, and I should have been prepared for such."

Sombra let out a noise that implied she knew the truth, and she continued to watch the geneticist.

"Don't you have anything better to do? Or just anything at all?" Moira snapped after a few moments, not appreciating the audience.

The hacker shrugged. "I watched Tracer for a bit, but she made me dizzy. You do know she's having, like… running fits, right?"

"Yes, she is agitated." Moira paused, lowering her hand. The gash was mostly healed, but there was still a slight scar. The redhead scowled, but she figured that would be the best she could do.

"Are you going to check on her?"

"I was getting to that." Moira turned and made her way into her lab, approaching the observation window. Hindsight was always 20/20, and as Moira reflected on the most recent setback, she supposed she should have had more of a plan in place. She should have realized that Antonio was not the patient type, and that he and others wouldn't understand why Tracer needed to be worked up to being taken out into the field.

 _Well, I'm sure he realized the error of his ways right before Tracer mauled him to death._

As Sombra had so eloquently put it, upon regaining consciousness, the assassin in question had immediately begun blinking frantically in her room, throwing herself at the walls hard enough to cause potential injury (not that she would have even noticed), and she had yet to stop. Tracer was letting out yells and other feral noises as she threw herself around her room; the pain had been easy to ignore when she'd been killing, and even during unconsciousness, but now it had returned with a vengeance, and she was desperate to find something, anything, that would make it stop.

Moira watched the brunette, frowning slightly. The pain was obviously catching up with her, and she hadn't yet learned how to adjust. The fighting had given her brain a distraction, and now that she was once again idle, it was most likely overwhelming her.

Sombra joined Moira in looking through the window, watching Tracer inside the room. "So did Antonio break her?"

"This is a significant setback, yes, but it is nothing I cannot fix," Moira replied.

Tracer blinked into the window, causing Sombra to jump. The assassin rebounded off of the glass and let out a yell before she blinked away.

"Why is she acting like this?" Sombra continued.

"Do you actually want the answer, or are you going to leave mid-way through?" Moira asked, her voice laced with slight irritation.

"Depends on how interesting you make it," the hacker replied.

Moira gave her a look, and Sombra smirked. "Fine; we'll see how long you last." The redhead looked back at Tracer before she started, "What Tracer is experiencing is, in essence, similar to that of a drug addict. The first time they experience a high, as it were, they find the feeling euphoric, and they subsequently chase that feeling. However, each time, it requires more and more 'substance' to achieve that same kind of high. For Tracer, the first time she killed, she realized that it made her forget her pain. However, the jump she made was far too drastic, much like an overdose. She was not prepared for such a massive killing, and now, she is essentially going through withdrawal." The geneticist paused here, glancing back at Sombra. "Do you understand?"

Sombra nodded. "So we let her wear herself out then?"

"That will remain to be seen; if she refuses to calm down in a timely manner, I will have to find a way to intervene." Moira let out a sigh, watching Tracer blink off the wall with another yell. "I will not allow all my work to be undone by one ignorant man."

* * *

Amélie knew she was in trouble. Before she could react, the woman knocked her rifle from her hands, sending it several feet away. The woman then gripped the chain of the handcuffs before giving it a yank, pulling the sniper in and landing a solid hit to the side of her head.

Stars burst in front of Amélie's eyes, and she let out a low growl, kicking the woman's legs out from underneath her. The woman fell and pulled the sniper down with her. Amélie's knee hit the floor hard, though she barely had time to register the pain before the woman grabbed the front of her shirt, rolling them over and straddling her hips.

"Ready to give up?" the woman said, slightly out of breath as she attempted to pin Amélie down.

"Oh _fille naïve_ , there is something you should know." Amélie shot her grappling hook into the opposite wall, quickly wrapping the slack around the woman's wrist before she pressed the retraction button. The two were pulled towards the wall, and Amélie quickly switched their position, pressing her forearm down forcefully against the woman's throat once they stopped. "I am always on top."

* * *

She was exhausted; Tracer wasn't sure how long she had been throwing herself around her room, but she had finally run out of energy, and was currently hunched over on the floor, her breathing labored.

"Have you finally decided to calm down?" The tall woman's voice came into the room over the speakers, and Tracer let out a growl, glaring upwards.

Moira pressed her lips together as she watched the brunette. Tracer had refused to calm down enough for Moira to do anything for her, and being unable to decide on a plan, she had decided to just let Tracer wear herself out. However, that was taking longer than anticipated, and as far as Moira was concerned, enough was enough. In addition, she was sure Tracer had gone days now without eating, and that combined with her high-energy activities would be sure to spell disaster.

"If you insist on continuing to run around like an animal, then you can at least make yourself useful and be an audience for my latest paper; I need to proofread it anyway," Moira said; after all, she couldn't be expected to stop her other research just because Tracer was a difficult subject. Besides that, there was still something bothering her about this paper that she still couldn't figure out. The redhead pulled up her latest research paper on her tablet before she began to read it out loud.

What the tall woman was reading didn't make any sense to Tracer, but it didn't much matter; she just liked the way the words sounded. As she listened, she found that it even distracted her from her pain, if only slightly. The smallest noise of content rose from the back of her throat as she sat and listened.

This was interesting. Moira hadn't expected this result, but Tracer seemed to be calmed by the reading. The geneticist continued, watching Tracer every so often to observe her behavior.

When the words finally stopped, the room seemed to be filled with a ringing silence, which pressed in on Tracer in a claustrophobic way. She let out a few noises of distress, looking up towards the speakers. The pain was returning to the forefront of her mind, and she was beginning to feel restless again.

The door suddenly opened, and Tracer looked up to see the tall woman entering, a tray of food in hand. She unfolded the table and stools again before setting the tray down.

"You need to eat."

Tracer let out a growl; she didn't want food, she wanted a distraction from her pain.

"I've brought more reading for you," Moira added, holding up a book. "Now eat before you collapse."

Tracer paused a moment before she stood and approached the table, sitting down on one of the stools. Moira sat across from her, opening the book she was carrying and beginning to read. The brunette felt herself calming as she listened, and she began to eat, which grew a bit more frenzied as she became aware of just how hungry she was.

Her ears perked up at the sound of something hitting the floor, and she looked down, seeing that it was a piece of paper. Tracer reached down and picked it up, seeing that it was a picture of the tall woman and another woman, this one a blonde. They were both smiling and looked happy (not that Tracer could share that sentiment), and the brunette let out a curious yawp.

Moira looked up at the sound, her heart clenching at the sight of Tracer holding the photograph. The assassin who associated photographs with targets.

"Hand it over," Moira said sternly, holding her hand out.

Tracer paused, looking between the photo and Moira.

"Tracer—"

The brunette put the photo in Moira's hand, and the geneticist quickly tucked it back into the book. "She isn't a target, you understand?" she said firmly, hoping her voice wouldn't shake. "If you ever see her, you leave her alone."

Tracer nodded, turning her attention back to her food.

"I mean it," Moira said, reaching forward to catch Tracer's face so they were looking at each other. "She is not a target."

Tracer let out a growl, pulling herself free and returning to eating. Moira had no way of knowing if she truly understood, and for the first (and hopefully only) time, she found herself wishing Tracer could talk.

"Tracer… I need verbal confirmation, just this once," Moira found herself saying, though she would never admit to pleading, and not to her assassin of all people. She knew she was asking for the impossible, like drawing water from a stone, but this was important.

Tracer looked up at the redhead, not entirely sure what she wanted from her. Even if she wanted to talk, she couldn't remember how to make her voice work, or how to form words.

Moira sighed, knowing Tracer couldn't give her what she was asking. "Just finish your food," the geneticist said before she resumed reading.

* * *

"Keep walking."

"Ow, okay, easy."

"Stop being such a baby."

Angela's brow furrowed at the unfamiliar voice, and she looked up to see Amélie entering with another woman who did not appear to be coming of her own free will.

"Has Captain Amari returned yet?" Amélie asked.

"Not yet; who is this?" Angela asked.

"That remains to be seen." Amélie forced the woman to sit in a chair before she said, "Undo the cuffs now."

"Sorry, don't have the key."

Amélie swore again before she began to pat the woman, trying to locate said key.

"You're really lonely, aren't you?" the woman said with a slight grin.

"Don't flatter yourself; I'm out of your league," Amélie replied, withdrawing once her search turned up nothing.

"I see you've made a friend."

Amélie turned at the voice, seeing Ana entering the room. "I found her rummaging through an open safe." The sniper turned her attention back to the woman, leaning closer to her. "What did you find?"

"Make it worth my while," the woman replied.

"This is not a negotiation!"

"All right, let's all calm down," Ana said as she approached, pushing Amélie back gently. "First let's separate you two." The captain pulled a set of lockpicking tools from a pouch on her belt before she began working on freeing Amélie.

"And I was so enjoying our time together," the woman said, giving Amélie a slight grin.

There was a click before the cuff around Amélie's wrist opened, and the French woman pulled her arm away, swearing under her breath. "Now tell us what you found."

"You want to add a please to that?"

Amélie let out a low growl, her fists clenching, but Angela caught her arm.

"Just let Ana handle this," the doctor said as she led the sniper away.

Ana closed the empty handcuff around the arm of the chair before she took a step back, crossing her arms. "You are not going to give anything up easily, are you?"

"I don't have anything to give," the woman replied.

Ana nodded; that sort of response was to be expected. "Perhaps you can at least bring your name out for us then? I do hate having to refer to people as 'prisoners' or 'suspects'."

The woman smiled slightly before she said, "Vasha."

* * *

" _Voy a cometer un asesinato_ …" Sombra angrily yanked her pillow off of her head and sat up in bed. The sounds of Tracer throwing herself and blinking around her room, followed by her feral yells were echoing through the facility, as they had been for the past few hours, and Sombra was ready to kill whomever necessary to make it stop. The hacker got out of bed and made her way to Moira's room, banging on the door with her fist. "Ay, Doctor!"

Moira opened the door a few moments later, and the yelling grew considerably louder. "What?" the redhead growled; she looked more exhausted than Sombra felt.

"Based on your appearance, I think you know what I'm going to say," Sombra said, crossing her arms.

"I can hardly imagine."

Sombra scowled. "Just find a way to shut her up or I will do it myself."

"I'd certainly like to see that." Moira didn't want to admit that she had already tried to keep Tracer quiet, but for whatever reason, the brunette just refused. "Any other complaints you'd like to lodge?"

The hacker could have responded to that in several ways, but she was too tired for this fight, so she instead said, "Just keep her quiet," before she left.

Moira watched the hacker go before she closed the door, rubbing her tired eyes. The geneticist turned her attention back to the door that led to her lab, and she let out a sigh before she entered, her gaze falling on Tracer in her own room.

It had been a few hours since Moira had stopped reading, saying she needed to try and sleep, and now the pain had become too much. Eating had restored some of her energy, and while blinking and yelling only provided a second or two of slight distraction, it was better than nothing.

The door to her room opened, and she looked up to see that it was Moira again.

"Your incessant yelling and blinking is keeping everyone up; what will make you go to sleep?"

Tracer let out a noise from the back of her throat, and Moira sighed. She knew that the brunette wouldn't be able to tell her what the problem was, but she had a feeling it had to do with her pain level, which she still hadn't adjusted to. The redhead had one last resort solution, one that she had been hoping to avoid, but at this point she was willing to try anything, if just to preserve her own sanity.

"I know you're in pain; come with me," Moira said.

Tracer let out a curious noise, but followed Moira into her bedroom, a room she hadn't been allowed in before. The assassin looked around as Moira closed the door and locked it behind them.

"Don't touch," she warned, slapping Tracer's hand away from where she'd been reaching out to touch one of the small cacti on the shelves.

Tracer let out a disappointed noise, but withdrew her hands.

Moira let out a sigh, running a hand through her hair. "If the others see this, they will never let me live it down," she muttered before she turned her attention to Tracer's suit, beginning to undo it and pull it off.

Tracer wasn't exactly sure what the geneticist was doing, but the last time she had been grabbed, she had been forced into this suit; if they were planning something worse, then Tracer wanted no part of that. She let out a few noises of protest, struggling against the redhead.

"I am trying to help you, hold still!" Moira growled, having reached the end of her rope. She finally managed to yank the suit free, taking step back.

The pain stopped. It took her a few moments to realize it, but it stopped. She felt… almost numb, but that was so much better than the pain.

Moira set the suit down and turned back to see that Tracer had fallen to her knees, and a single tear was running down her face. That was an emotion Moira didn't know Tracer was capable of; she had thought most emotions erased during the reprogramming. Perhaps Tracer was still more human than she realized… and if that was the case, then what she was experiencing could be considered cruel.

Well, crueler than it needed to be.

Moira wondered if perhaps Tracer would need to undergo another round of reprogramming in the morning; it might be the "hard reset" she needed to both readjust to the pain and lose these emotions for good.

For now, though, Moira would just let the assassin enjoy being pain free.

After the first few minutes of just relishing the feeling of being without pain, Tracer finally opened her eyes, a red glow catching her attention. She looked down and her gaze fell on a round glass face in her chest, a red light glowing behind it. She tapped it lightly with her finger, letting out a curious yawp.

"Leave your accelerator alone," Moira said, sitting on her bed. The redhead considered sending Tracer back into her room, but that seemed to require far more energy than she had. The geneticist instead threw a pillow on the ground beside her bed, followed by a blanket. "Now, go to sleep before Sombra becomes even more cranky."

Tracer paused a moment before she curled up on top of the blanket, holding the pillow as if she meant to suffocate it.

Moira watched the brunette, but that was not a fight worth having, so she merely leaned back and closed her eyes. She would just rest for a few minutes and then she would return to her research… just a quick power nap, and then back to work.


	7. Chapter 7

"How are we going to do this?"

Angela glanced at Vasha before she said, "I still think we should return her to HQ."

"No; whatever she found in that safe, or anywhere else in this estate, we should have," Amélie said, her gaze never leaving Vasha. "She's too devious to risk transporting; she'll disappear before we get what we want."

"You're just sore because she managed to handcuff you," Ana said with a slight smirk.

Amélie gave her mentor a look. "I am not sore, and I am not leaving until we know what she knows." The sniper looked back at Vasha, who winked and made a kissing face in quite a sarcastic manner. Amélie's scowl deepened. "Who knows how long she's been snooping around here."

"I don't think interviewing her here is the best idea," Angela said with a slight frown. She had a feeling that she knew what Amélie was trying to get at, and she hardly believed the sniper in the right headspace to conduct any sort of interview.

"Just give me five minutes," Amélie said, turning her attention to Ana.

Ana paused for a moment; she knew Angela would want her to deny the French woman's request, but if she never gave Amélie a chance, how could she expect her to heal and fully return to active duty?

"Five minutes," the captain said.

Amélie nodded before she re-entered the office, and Angela looked at Ana.

"You know you shouldn't allow this," the doctor said.

"She can handle it; she is not as delicate as you think."

* * *

Vasha arched an eyebrow, watching the sniper as she approached. "So, shall we beat around the bush for a bit; maybe you have some sort of good cop, bad cop planned—"

"Antonio is dead, and I found you in front of his open safe. You seemed to know exactly where and what to look for." Amélie crossed her arms, fixing Vasha with a harsh scowl. "Covering your tracks?"

"I don't work for Talon—"

"You told me you worked for Blackwatch; you expect me to just take your word as the truth?" Amélie shook her head before she added, "Unless you change my mind, I will treat you as Talon."

Vasha's gaze narrowed slightly, though she didn't seem to like the implications of being treated as Talon. "Look, I'm just a thief, okay? I don't work for anybody."

This wasn't getting her anywhere, and Amélie knew that continuing this way would use up her five minutes quickly. She needed to get this woman to talk now. The sniper drew her knife from her boot before she seized Vasha's wrist, pressing the blade just hard enough against her index finger to show that she meant business. "A thief will have a hard time stealing with fewer fingers, _oui_?"

Vasha immediately tried to pull away, her face betraying her panic. "You can't do this—"

Amélie leaned in close, her lips almost touching Vasha's ear. "I am already dangerously close to being terminated because of my mental state. I assure you, I can do this, and I will unless you give me what I ask for."

"That's enough!" Angela was suddenly pulling her away, and Amélie let out a low growl. "You can't torture her—"

"I wasn't—"

"Oh no? Then what was this?" Angela snatched the knife from her hand, holding it up and forcing Amélie to focus on it. "We do not intimidate, and we do not threaten. We are not Talon—"

"But I might be."

Angela paused. "What does that mean?"

Amélie couldn't meet the doctor's gaze, and she crossed her arms. She didn't want to say what she was thinking out loud, and she felt as though she were falling apart faster than she could piece herself back together.

"Amélie, don't shut down, talk to me—"

"I don't want to talk!"

Something suddenly shot between the two women, missing them both by inches, and Amélie turned to see Ana lowering her sleep dart gun. She looked back at Vasha, who had apparently freed herself from the handcuffs while Angela and Amélie had been distracted and had attempted to make her escape. A sleep dart was sticking out of her neck, and the thief hit the floor, out cold.

"Well, I think it's time we all returned to HQ," Ana said, holstering said dart gun.

* * *

Tracer wasn't sure where Moira was taking her, but the room was vaguely familiar. Her gaze fell on the chair in front of them, and something deep in the recesses of her mind stirred.

" _No! No, I won't let you do this to me!"_

A fragment of a memory flashed through her mind… was that her voice? Tracer began to resist against Moira's hold out of instinct more than anything; all she knew was that she didn't want anything to do with that chair.

Moira knew she should have expected this. Tracer might not fully remember her time being reprogrammed, especially in the beginning, but that didn't mean she would just go along without resistance.

"This will be over soon," Moira said, tightening her grip on the brunette. The geneticist was already in a poor mood, having fallen asleep last night with her contacts still in. Upon waking up, her eyes had been in enough pain that she was forced to wear her glasses.

Tracer let out a noise of protest, and Moira seized her by the back of her neck, forcing her forward. She managed to get the assassin in the chair, quickly securing the restraints around her wrists. The brunette struggled to free herself, and Moira moved to secure her ankles before straightening up.

"The more you struggle, the more painful this will be," Moira said as she moved to the table, picking up the first needle. Tracer's eyes fell on the needle and Moira could see the panic in them. "Sit still." She began to reach for Tracer's arm, though the assassin's struggling was making it difficult. "Tracer—"

"Nnnn— nnno!"

Moira looked up in surprise; Tracer had forced herself to talk. True, it was the most basic of words, the one most children learn first (and never stop using for the rest of their life), but she had said it.

That would need to be fixed right away.

Moira moved to set the needle down before she picked up the gag she had used on the assassin before. What she had said to Sombra before was true: talking was a form of free will, and if Tracer had forced herself to talk once, she would do it again. As much as Moira had wanted verbal confirmation yesterday, that had been a different situation.

"This has to be done," Moira offered as an apology before she put the gag on the brunette.

Tracer let out muffled noises against the gag, wondering what she had done to warrant this. Was this her punishment for what had happened at Antonio's estate? She hadn't felt in control of her actions in that situation; she could barely remember what happened after she killed the first two guards. The brunette became aware that Moira was sliding the first needle inside her elbow, which was soon followed by a second one inside her other elbow.

"If you keep struggling, you'll dislodge those, and trust me when I say that will hurt far more," Moira said, moving away to a computer.

A pause, and then a sudden pain so intense that all Tracer could hear was the static in her own head. She vaguely registered the restraints biting into her flesh as she strained against them, and if she was yelling, she wasn't aware of that either.

 _What did I do wrong?_

* * *

"She's been unusually quiet."

Moira let out a grunt from where she was working. "A side effect of the reprogramming."

Reaper looked back at Tracer, who was sitting motionless on the floor on her room; her eyes were unfocused and she seemed to be staring far beyond the wall.

"What exactly did you do?" Reaper continued.

"Why are you asking so many questions—" Moira paused, giving Reaper a look over her glasses. "Don't tell me you actually _care_."

Reaper knew he could call Moira out on that, but chose not to. Truth be told, all three of them had grown more attached to Tracer than anticipated, but none of them were going to admit it out loud. "She's no good to us if she can do little more than sit and stare."

"Ah, so it is her ability as an assassin that you're concerned about." Moira knew that was a lie, and she turned her attention back to her tablet. "Rest assured, her abilities will be unaffected; she will be back to training in no time."

* * *

The suit was back on, and the pain had returned. Tracer's mind was little more than white noise; she couldn't focus on anything, and her eyes didn't seem to be able to transmit her surroundings to her brain.

Some tiny part of her brain that was still cognizant told her that the door was opening, and there were approaching footsteps. She was vaguely aware of a presence beside her, but she didn't make any motion to see who or what it was.

Reaper sat beside the assassin, noting her thousand-yard-stare. He wasn't entirely sure what Moira had done to the brunette, but there was a part of him that could empathize with her.

"I don't know how much you're really here, but uh… I know what it's like to sit in that chair and be seen as more of a science experiment than a person. It's… it's a raw deal we've been given, kid."

 _You don't have to be what they want._

There it was; that unknown voice in her head. It had been silent for so long (or she had just been unable to hear it) that Tracer had thought it gone. The voice sounded so familiar, and she struggled to remember the name associated with it. Her name; the person she was before Tracer.

* * *

Silence between Angela and Amélie during a session was not uncommon, but the silence they were experiencing right now… it was almost deafening.

"Well?" Angela said, finally breaking the tense silence.

" _Tiens, tiens_ ," Amélie said, looking down at her blue tinged fingers.

Angela was not amused. "Do you want to talk about what happened in Venice?"

"You sound like you want to talk about it."

"This is not a joke, Amélie! You threatened someone, and unless I am mistaken, you were fully prepared to go through with that threat." Angela fixed the sniper with a stern look; she knew she shouldn't lose her temper with Amélie, but the French woman wasn't taking this as seriously as she needed to. The doctor counted to three to regain her composure before she added, "You alluded some connection to Talon; do you want to elaborate?"

Amélie knew what Angela was referring to; that had come out in the heat of the moment, and it was a fear that Amélie had been fighting to keep buried, in the hope that if she just ignored it long enough, it would go away. However, her behavior with Vasha proved her wrong.

"I was taken by Talon; who knows the full extent of what they did to my brain." Amélie let out a sigh. "Maybe that's why I keep losing control of my actions… maybe that is what they were after all along."

This was something new, something Amélie hadn't opened up about before. Truth be told, it was a fear that Angela had had in the back of the mind since Amélie's rescue. As a doctor, there was only so much Angela could do; she could heal physical wounds, yes, but if what Talon had done to Amélie was solely in her mind… Angela couldn't heal that. The blonde had no way of seeing the damage they had done, nor did she have any way of just undoing it.

"If this is the first time this has happened, perhaps we shouldn't jump to conclusions—"

"It's not the first time."

That was not what Angela wanted to hear. "It's not?"

Amélie shook her head; Ana might not have told Jack what happened during that first mission in Venice, but the sniper figured there was no sense in keeping the whole truth from Angela now.

"When was the first time?" the blonde continued.

"When I went to Venice with Ana for the recon mission; I had Antonio in my sights, and I began to subconsciously pull the trigger. If Ana hadn't stopped me… I suppose I would have killed him, or at least taken the shot."

Angela gripped her pen tightly before she said, "I see."

* * *

"Ana!"

The captain paused from where she was making her way down the hall, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. "You don't sound entirely happy, Angela."

The doctor chose not to comment on that, instead saying, "Perhaps we should talk in your office."

Ana paused a moment, sipping her tea before she said, "All right." The two made their way inside the captain's office, and Angela closed the door behind them. "Has Amélie had some sort of setback? Or have you not finished reprimanding me for allowing her to interview Vasha?"

"First of all, it wasn't an interview as much as an interrogation, and secondly, why didn't you tell me about what happened in Venice?"

Ana took another sip from her tea. "You were with us—"

"I mean when you went with Amélie, when she almost shot Antonio."

"Oh, she told you about that."

"Yes, she did, and you should have too."

"It was her first time back in the field, it hardly seemed relevant—"

"Hardly relevant?" Angela couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Amélie is terrified that Talon has done something to her brain that is making her lose control, and we don't even know if that was their plan all along. Maybe they wanted us to rescue Amélie so they could destroy us from the inside—"

"Is that your assessment, Dr. Ziegler?"

Angela paused at that. "What?"

Ana shrugged. "You've been sitting and talking with her since she was rescued, so you tell me: is it your expert opinion that Talon has turned Amélie into a sort of sleeper agent in one month? That would be efficient, even for them."

Angela opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then paused. Despite the slight condescending nature of Ana's words, she had a point. One month was not very long (though she assumed it had felt like forever to Amélie); even Talon was not so efficient as to create a sleeper agent in so short a time, right?

"Regardless, you should be keeping a close eye on her," Angela finally said. "Her fears are still valid."

Ana nodded. "Of course."

* * *

It was time to return Tracer to training. The brunette was, first and foremost, made to be an assassin; if they continued to coddle her forever it would be detrimental on her psyche for sure.

"You have shirked your training for long enough," Moira said, holding Tracer's helmet out to her.

The assassin still hadn't seemed to fully recover from her reprogramming, and while her gaze moved to her helmet, her brain didn't appear to fully register what it was.

"Take your helmet," Moira said when Tracer made no motion to do so herself.

The brunette paused a moment longer before she took it, looking inside for a few long moments before she put it on. As the display inside lit up, it brought back flashbacks from Antonio's estate. The muzzle, the guards, the blood…

Wearing the helmet again felt like being back inside her own personal hell.

"You need to learn self-control. Once you eliminate your target, you must force yourself to stop. Dead is dead; overkill is not necessary or useful."

Tracer nodded, though Moira doubted she was fully registering what the redhead was saying.

"I know killing distracts you from your pain, but learning control will make it easier to bear." Moira attached the blades to Tracer's armor, pausing a moment to look at the assassin. She knew she needed to remain indifferent, and treat Tracer like any other experiment.

 _This has never been an issue before; she's just an experiment, just another stepping stone in the advancement of science._

"This is your target," Moira said, holding up a photo in front of Tracer's face. "Do you understand?"

A few moments passed before Tracer nodded, and Moira moved to open the door to the training room, closing it once Tracer entered. She moved to the observation window, doing her best to ignore Reaper and Sombra, though they seemed to share Moira's anxiety.

"An omnic this time?" Sombra said once the other door opened and Tracer's target entered.

Moira nodded. "Tracer is not yet ready for humans, considering the massacre in Venice, but she needs to make forward progress. An omnic is a good balance between human and training robot."

This target was different; it was a robot, but it didn't look like the training bots… it was taller and looked more human. Whatever it was, Tracer knew it needed to be eliminated. The assassin lunged for it, but it moved, and Tracer let out a growl as her feet slid across the floor. She blinked to the opposite wall, clinging for a few moments as she tracked her target. The assassin blinked forward, running across the floor and tackling her target before it could move again, beginning to attack with her blades. A dark substance resembling blood began spattering her armor as she continued to attack.

 _Stop, stop, they're dead, STOP!_

The pleas of that small voice rose over the yells Tracer wasn't even aware she had been letting out, and she slowed her attacks, eventually stopping altogether, though she didn't move off her target.

Moira watched Tracer carefully, but while the assassin had yet to get off the omnic, she had stopped attacking on her own. The redhead let out the breath she wasn't even aware she had been holding.

"Progress."


	8. Chapter 8

"Hello? Did you guys forget I'm down here?" Vasha let out a sigh, crossing her arms. After being brought back to the Overwatch HQ, Vasha had been promptly escorted to a cell, which was where she was currently. There were no clocks that she could see, so Vasha didn't know exactly how long she had been in the cell, but it felt like several hours at least.

A panel on the wall suddenly folded down, and a tray of food slid through. Vasha made a face before she added, "Great, this is much more personal, thank you."

The sound of footsteps caught her attention, and Vasha turned to see Amélie approaching the cell.

"I thought you weren't allowed to talk to me," Vasha said.

"The presence of cameras helps," Amélie said. "Are you ready to talk?"

Vasha shrugged. "Maybe; did you leave your knife behind this time?"

Amélie set her jaw; she had to remain in control. She couldn't have a third incident; just as she had said, there were cameras watching their every move. "Trust me, if I wanted to get at you, this safety glass wouldn't stop me."

Vasha grinned slightly. "You know, I kinda like you."

"The feeling is not mutual."

"Hey, come on, don't take offense. You don't have to be gay to appreciate someone finding you attractive—"

"Many people find me attractive, and you are far from the first woman to express such aloud. While I find female company quite enjoyable under the right circumstances, you are hardly my type."

Vasha clutched at her heart much like a damsel in a period piece. "Oh, she is as deadly as the tales say. Please, spare me, Widowmaker."

The sniper froze at that. "Where did you hear that—"

"At first I wasn't sure why you looked familiar, but now I know who you are. Amélie Lacroix, one of Overwatch's best snipers—"

"Where did you learn this?"

Vasha crossed her arms, giving Amélie a slight smirk.

Oh, how Amélie would love to smack that smirk right off Vasha's face. But no, she needed to remain calm, she needed to stay in control of her actions. "Did you learn of this in Antonio's files? Did he have a file on me?" Antonio was Talon; if he had information on Amélie, then maybe she could find out what exactly Talon had done to her.

"You sound scared; afraid I know a terrible secret about you?"

Amélie hit the safety glass with her open palm. "Do not play games with me! Did he have a file on me or not? Did he know what they did to me?"

Vasha's brow furrowed. "What do you mean; what did they do to you?" The thief's expression softened a bit. "Did Talon do something to you—"

Amélie hated that look, and the tone that always followed. Pity. Pity for her, pity for what she had been through; she couldn't stand it. "Spare me your pity and just answer my question."

Vasha paused a long moment before she nodded. "Yeah… yeah, he had some information on you, mainly just your status as an Overwatch agent." A pause. "Hey, there was another file, some guy named Gerard? He had the same last name as you, but it just said deceased—"

"We are not talking about Gerard," Amélie said sternly. She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "And I do not use that codename anymore."

* * *

" _¿Qué pasa, mi pequeño asesino?"_

Tracer looked up, her brow furrowing upon seeing the other woman, the one with the purple tipped hair, entering with her normal food tray. Usually Moira brought her food; why was Sombra bringing it this time?

"Oh, don't worry about _Doctor Pelirrojo_ ; I made sure she was otherwise occupied," Sombra said upon seeing Tracer's confused expression. The hacker sat in front of Tracer, setting the tray down on the floor between them. "I wanted to talk to you myself. I know you're not much of a talker, but we can still make it work."

Tracer watched the hacker, unsure of what she wanted or what the assassin should do.

Sombra rolled her eyes. "Ay, I'm not going to do anything to you; I'm the one who should be worried anyway."

Tracer paused a few moments longer before she began to eat, though her gaze remained on the hacker.

"That's a little creepy, not going to lie." Sombra watched the brunette as she ate; Tracer seemed to be slowly coming out of the fog that her reprogramming had put her in, and the hacker had to admit that she preferred this Tracer to the mindless killer. "The others won't admit it, but I will: what Antonio did to you… it was messed up, and we should have done more to stop him from taking you."

Tracer paused at that, straightening up slightly. Antonio… the massacre… Her most recent reprogramming had caused those memories to become mostly fuzzy, leaving behind only blurred figures and muffled voices. Tracer wondered if maybe that was for the best; Sombra seemed to sound almost apologetic.

"But you seem to be recovering now," Sombra continued, reaching into the pocket of her jacket.

Tracer froze at that motion, her muscles tensing.

"Easy, I don't have a weapon," Sombra said, noticing her behavior. She withdrew her hand, and Tracer could see that it was a silver rectangle. "So, no hard feelings between us?"

The brunette looked down at the offered object, taking it from Sombra hesitantly. She turned it over in her hands, trying to figure out what it was exactly.

"Pull the wrapper off," the hacker said.

Tracer tore at the silver covering, revealing something brown underneath. She let out a curious noise, still not entirely sure what it was.

"It's a chocolate bar; you eat it," Sombra said, slightly amused by Tracer's behavior.

Tracer took a bite from the bar, the sweet taste immediately foreign but not unwelcome.

"You like it?" Sombra asked.

Tracer nodded, wanting to take another bite, but also wanting to savor it. This wasn't like anything she had been allowed to eat before.

"Sugar, Sombra, really? Do you want her in the air vents?" Moira's voice came sharply over the speaker, startling both young women.

"Ay, it's just one candy bar," the hacker protested.

"Just one is all it takes." Moira shook her head. "And while we're at it, keep your grubby paws off of my research."

Sombra grinned. "I see you found your tablet."

"The vegetable crisper was an inspired choice, I'll give you that."

The hacker laughed before she got to her feet. "Guess I better go before she really gets upset. Glad we could have this talk, Tracer." Sombra waggled her fingers in a sort of goodbye before she translocated from the room.

Tracer stared at the spot where Sombra had been, her chocolate bar still in her hands. The treat was good, and Tracer was loathe to give it up, but Moira's tone hadn't sounded pleased, leaving the assassin torn.

Moira watched the brunette before she let out a sigh and said, "The damage is already done, I suppose. Just finish it."

* * *

"She's asking for you again."

Amélie let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Why?"

McCree shook his head. "Don't know; she won't say." The cowboy lit his cigar, and a small cloud of smoke rose into the air. "She just likes you I guess."

"How lucky for me." Amélie let out a sigh; Vasha seemed to know just how badly they wanted this information, and she was certainly milking it for all it was worth. The sniper was more than a little annoyed with the thief, but there was little she could do. "Isn't there anyone else available?"

"Nope; they're all dealing with the Numbani situation."

Amélie's brow furrowed. "What situation?"

"Oh, you didn't hear? Apparently Doomfist broke out of prison."

Amélie recalled that her husband had assisted with Doomfist's incarceration mission, though she knew little about him outside of that. The sniper let out a sigh before she said, "I suppose I have little choice then. Hopefully our thief actually has useful information to give this time."

* * *

"I am not in the mood for games today—" Amélie paused upon seeing the serious expression on Vasha's face. "Trying a new tactic, are we?"

"Is it true?"

"I need context."

"Is it true about Doomfist? His escape from prison… his attack on Numbani?"

Amélie crossed her arms. "This is a new tune you are singing; why do you care?"

"Just tell me if it's true."

" _Tiens, tiens,_ how does it feel to be on the other side—"

"Amélie just tell me if it's true so I know if my family is safe!"

So that's what this was about. Amélie hadn't stopped to consider where Vasha was from, or that she was not an Italian native. The sniper considered using this newfound information as leverage to finally get what they were after, but Vasha looked so desperate… Amélie considered how she would feel if their roles were reversed.

 _They have been; I have been a prisoner too._

"Yes, it is true," Amélie said. "Doomfist escaped from prison early this morning."

Vasha let out an irritated sigh, running her hands through her hair and beginning to pace restlessly. Amélie had never seen her this way, and had begun to give up hope of ever breaking the thief.

"Okay… okay, I'll tell you what you want, but you have to promise to release me," Vasha said, facing the sniper.

Now Amélie held the upper hand. The sniper crossed her arms, not entirely ready to just give Vasha what she wanted. "We'll see what the value of your information is."

"Look, there was nothing of value in the safe—"

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"But I saw what happened to Antonio."

Amélie couldn't hide her surprise at that. "You were there?"

Vasha nodded. "Not in the room, of course, but I was there performing recon… I saw what happened."

That was valuable; they had yet to figure out who had infiltrated the estate, or how they had killed so many. "All right, tell me exactly what you saw. If what you say sounds plausible, then I will take it to my superiors, and they will decide—"

"No, Amélie, I can't wait for your people to sit around deciding whether or not they're going to let me out like this is some sort of parole hearing. I need to go home and check on my family now."

"I don't have the authority to just let you go—"

"Come on Amélie, you of all people should know how this feels, being trapped and helpless!"

The sniper let out a sigh, but even though she was desperate, Vasha still knew which buttons to push. "I'll see what I can do, but you have to give us something."

Vasha nodded. "All right. Here's how it went."

* * *

It had taken a few days, but Vasha had managed to infiltrate Antonio's estate. She was sure the Italian businessman had more than a few shady secrets that would be worth a considerable amount; all she had to do now was find the evidence. From where she was perched on the roof, the thief secured her grapple line before she began to rappel down the side of the building, pausing beside the window. Vasha pulled a mirror from her belt, holding it out so that she could see inside.

Antonio was standing in front of his desk, talking to someone that Vasha couldn't see. There was a struggling figure in armor beside him, and Vasha's brow furrowed; it wasn't one of his usual red-capped guards.

The guards undid whatever restraints were on the armored figure, and that was when all hell broke loose. The figure seemed to move at an unnatural speed, and Vasha could see blood spattering onto the walls and windows. Antonio himself was soon brought to the floor, and Vasha watched the red blades tear into him repeatedly.

The figure suddenly turned, their glowing red eyes reflecting in the mirror and startling the thief, causing her to drop it.

* * *

"One killer… you're sure?"

Vasha nodded. "I'll admit, I was afraid to go inside… afraid of what that thing would do to me. Some people eventually came, and when they left, it was gone."

"Wait, someone else came to the estate before we showed up?" This was information that Jack would definitely want to hear. "Who?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask for identification."

Amélie gave her a look.

"All I know is that there were three of them, and one was a redhead. They must have known about the safe too because by the time I got to it, there was barely anything of value left. That was where you found me."

Amélie paused a long moment as she considered what Vasha had said. One killer against a dozen armed men… it seemed impossible, and yet, this was the first time Vasha had actually seemed serious. Any hint of mirth and sarcasm was gone.

"So are you going to let me out or what?" Vasha asked as she watched the French woman.

A few more tense moments passed before Amélie said, "Give me proof that what you say is true, something I can take to my superiors, and I'll let you go."

* * *

"You can try Jack, but as we said before, she hasn't talked to anyone except Amélie."

"I'd like to see for myself."

The two rounded the corner, only to see Vasha's holding cell was empty.

"I thought you said she was secured—" Jack started.

"She was; I'll have the building put on lockdown, she can't have gotten far—"

"There is no need for that."

Ana and Jack turned at Amélie's voice, seeing the sniper leaning against the wall.

"I released Vasha myself, and put her on a transport back to Numbani," Amélie continued; Ana wasn't sure whether or not her overly calm demeanor should be troubling.

"Would you care to explain why?" the captain asked.

"Because she gave us what we needed." Amélie straightened up, flipping a picture between her fingers and holding it out to Ana. "This is our killer."

* * *

When the alarm began to go off, and a flashing red light filled the room, Moira let out an annoyed sigh. She knew perfectly well what that meant; they had sixty seconds to grab what was important and evacuate. The geneticist immediately got to her feet, grabbing her go bag and slipping her tablet inside. She grabbed several books as well, sticking those in her bag. Moira quickly grabbed Tracer's helmet and blades, going over to the assassin's room and opening the door.

"Time to go; stay right next to me and do exactly what I say," Moira said.

Tracer had been pulled from her fitful sleep by the sudden alarm, and she wasn't sure what it or the lights meant. She let out a slightly distressed growl, her muscles tensing and prepared to fight.

"No, stay calm and focus," Moira said, catching the assassin's face. "We have to leave, so listen to me and do as I say. Stay right beside me."

The brunette nodded, and Moira released her, holding her helmet out to her. Tracer took it, and Moira started from the room, the brunette following behind her, though she was still unsure where exactly they were going or why it seemed so important that they leave.

"Good, you managed to get her," Reaper said as they encountered him in the hallway, a bag in his hand.

"Concerned, were you?" Moira asked.

"It would have been rude to leave her in an exploding building."

"I thought you said Overwatch wouldn't find us here," Sombra snapped irritably as she joined the group, looking as though she had been rudely awoken from a nap. She had a backpack slung over one shoulder and a teddy bear tucked under her other arm.

"Perhaps the nearby murders alerted them to our presence," Moira said, not without a hint of bitterness.

"It doesn't matter how they found us; what matters is we get out before they arrive. Now into the transport," Reaper said.

"Another lab gone to waste," Moira spat as they made their way outside and quickly entered the transport. "Sit down," she said, securing Tracer in a seat once the assassin sat.

The transport lifted off the ground, and just as the door was closing, Tracer caught sight of the facility right before it was engulfed in a fiery explosion. She let out a noise of surprise and distress; she had come to associate the facility as a safe place, and now they were leaving, and it was gone.

Moira had been afraid of this type of reaction. It was still rather soon after they had brought Tracer back from the estate, which meant that Tracer had come to see the facility as a sort of "home"; the geneticist had not had time to instill in the assassin that the facility was merely a holding area.

"We're moving to a new facility," Moira said, trying to pull Tracer's attention back towards her. "We can't let Overwatch find us."

Overwatch… that was the same term Sombra had used earlier. Tracer wasn't sure if she was supposed to know what that meant, but something about it seemed familiar. Tracer looked back at the redhead, a questioning look on her face.

"Overwatch is…" Moira wasn't quite sure how to describe them. "An organization of watchdogs that claim to hold themselves to a higher standards of morals."

"Hypocrites," Reaper growled. "If you see any Overwatch agents, kill them."

Moira gave him a look. "That is a matter for a later date," she said sternly before she looked back at Tracer. "Overwatch will try and stop us if we let them catch up, which is why we need to move. I know this change is sudden, but we must learn to adapt. Whatever the situation… we must adapt."


	9. Chapter 9

"It's her."

"Angela, don't jump to conclusions—"

"It's her, Fareeha."

Fareeha let out a sigh as she attempted to calm the doctor. "Moira O'Deorain is not the only redhead in the world—"

"You honestly think anyone else would be connected with this?" Angela shook her head; upon hearing what Amélie had learned from Vasha, the doctor had, for lack of a better term, lost her shit. Internally, of course. "I don't know what she's done this time, but she has a hand in this."

Fareeha didn't have an argument against that; she had to admit that they had lost Moira to Talon some time ago, and while it had been a hard pill for everyone to swallow, Angela had taken it especially hard.

"Look, the team should be arriving at the suspected headquarters soon," Fareeha said, approaching the doctor and rubbing her arms gently. "If Moira is there, she won't get away."

Angela let out a short, humorless laugh. "I highly doubt that; Moira is nothing if not determined, and if she doesn't want to be found, then we won't find her."

* * *

Moira's limbs were well beyond stiff when they finally landed, and the redhead wanted nothing more than to unfold herself from these seats which were obviously made without people of her height in mind.

"Should we risk waking her?" Reaper asked, motioning to Tracer, who had fallen asleep against the redhead's arm.

"Don't worry, I got plenty of pictures," Sombra added, flashing her phone; she obviously meant to use said pictures as some form of blackmail at a later date, no doubt.

"Charming," Moira almost growled. She turned her attention to the assassin, giving her a shove. "Time to get up."

Tracer jerked awake, letting out a yawp before she yawned and rubbed her face.

Moira undid her own harness before she stood and stretched, several joints popping. She let out a sigh before she undid Tracer's harness as well, freeing the brunette. "Follow," she said, handing Tracer her helmet before she started from the transport.

Tracer looked down at her helmet before she stood, her stiff legs almost giving out on her for a moment before she followed the geneticist.

"I was wondering when you would show up." Doomfist straightened up, looking the three over as they approached the entrance to the building.

"Finally made your prison break then," Reaper said, approaching the taller man.

"I told you that I would, and I am a man of my word." Doomfist's gaze fell on Tracer, who was clutching her helmet like a lifeline. "Recruiting a bit young?"

"Tracer is an assassin of my own design," Moira said.

Doomfist didn't look convinced. "She looks like a child."

Moira did her best to keep her face neutral. "Looks are only looks."

Doomfist paused a few moments longer, looking at Tracer before he said, "You, girl, attack me; show me what you're made of."

Tracer's brow furrowed, and she looked at Moira, unsure of what to do. This man… he wanted her to attack him? She was given orders to attack, not requests.

Moira placed a hand on top of Tracer's head, signaling for her to remain put. "I would not recommend it; Tracer is not yet ready to train against a target that fights back. In addition—"

"She killed Antonio and about a dozen of his men," Sombra supplied, obviously bored with Moira's technical approach. "All armed."

The estate… the men… so much blood… her memories of that incident were still fuzzy. She must have killed so many… they kept saying she did, and Tracer honestly wasn't sure if she wanted those memories to return.

"Is this so? I had heard that Antonio was dead, but I did not know that you three were behind his demise. Tell me, what was the purpose to his murder?" Doomfist asked.

"It was not planned; Antonio chose to ignore sound advice and was killed because of it," Moira said curtly. "It was his own fault."

"So I am to believe this that this child took on Antonio and his armed men by herself and survived with nary a scratch?" Doomfist looked understandable skeptical, though Moira still didn't much appreciate it.

"Now you see why Antonio should have listened to me," the redhead said coldly. "Tracer is dangerous, just as we intended her to be. Once her training is fully completed, she will be the perfect assassin."

Dangerous. She was dangerous. They wanted her to be a weapon, a perfect assassin…

 _So why are they nice to me?_

 _That isn't nice; they're making you complacent, making you the way they want. But you don't have to be that way. You don't have to be what they want._

The phrase; she had heard it so many times, over and over. She had no idea why the small voice kept repeating it, or what it was supposed to fully mean. How could she be anything other than what they had made her? She had already experienced the price of disobedience, and wasn't keen to do so again.

"Now, shall we go inside and get settled?" Moira continued, indicating that the conversation was over.

Doomfist paused, looking as though he wanted more information, but instead just nodded.

* * *

Tracer didn't like this new facility. It felt smaller than the other one, and emptier. It was pressing in on her in an almost claustrophobic way, and the brunette was growing restless. The assassin let out a few noises as she watched Moira set up her lab.

"What?" Moira said, not looking back at the assassin.

Tracer let out another noise, this one sounding like she was pulling it from her throat through clenched teeth; an attempt to form words, perhaps.

"I know this facility is unfamiliar to you, but we must learn to adapt." Moira felt a sudden weight against her back, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Tracer resting her forehead against her back.

It was happening again. Tracer had been distant enough after the additional round of reprogramming, but the attachment she seemed to have formed to Moira was apparently strong enough to survive, and was beginning to resurface.

"None of that," Moira said, shrugging the assassin off. There was a pause, and then Moira felt the weight against her back again. The redhead let out an irritated sigh before she turned around, pushing Tracer away and holding her at arm's length. "This type of behavior is unacceptable; you are an assassin, do you understand? You have no reason to act like an attention-starved child."

Tracer didn't respond, instead staring at Moira with eyes that were not as emotionless as the geneticist would have expected.

"Just sit over there and wait until I have finished; we still need to find a place to put you," Moira added, pushing Tracer towards a chair.

Tracer didn't sit, instead continuing to stare at Moira.

"I said sit." Moira was both annoyed with Tracer's behavior and her own. Tracer was an experiment, a subject, and Moira was instead treating her like a child. It was unacceptable, not to mention unproductive. Tracer could not be coddled; she had to be cold and obedient. "Sit down!"

Tracer sat; the tall woman hadn't used such a tone with her before, and it wasn't entirely pleasant.

Moira took a moment to recompose herself, smoothing back a few loose strands of hair. "Now just stay there until I figure out where to put you. Do you understand?"

Tracer nodded.

"Good."

* * *

"They obviously knew we were coming," Jack said as he looked around the burnt remains of the once Talon facility. He kicked at a piece of debris, shaking his head. "Every time we think we're about to catch them, they manage to stay one step ahead."

McCree approached the commander before he said, "Seems to be the trend lately."

"No bodies," Ana said, joining them. "This was intentional."

"Just like before." Jack let out a sigh. He knew there was little use in searching the wreckage for any evidence; just as before, Talon had covered their tracks. "I doubt a search will turn up anything, but we might as well try. If we're lucky, maybe they left something behind."

* * *

"Something is troubling you, Doctor?"

It was delivered more as a statement, and for a moment, it caught Angela off guard. That was usually her line, but it occurred to her that she had been staring intently at her notebook as if to take notes, but her hand hadn't moved. The blonde looked up at Amélie sitting across from her, noticing the questioning expression on her face.

"I… apologize, I was distracted," Angela said.

"Yes, I recognize that distant look; I suspect it is one I wear often," Amélie said. "What is on your mind?"

Angela shook her head. "It's not important; we are here to talk about you, not my own problems."

Amélie shrugged. "It seems important enough to distract you, which as far as I can recall, has not happened before."

The doctor sighed; this was a part of her past that she did not wish to dredge up, not again, and she especially did not want to discuss it during one of Amélie's sessions. "Yes, well, I will do my best to ensure it does not happen again."

Amélie frowned slightly. She knew Angela was trying to be professional, but the doctor was still human. She took care of everyone else, yet whom did she have to turn to? The sniper paused as she tried to recall what could have triggered this distraction.

 _I released Vasha, I handed over the photograph, I told them what she had seen—_

Suddenly it all clicked into place. Amélie reprimanded herself on not realizing it sooner.

"The redhead… she used to work here, _oui_?" Amélie said, watching Angela's body language. The doctor gripped her pen a bit tighter, and Amélie could hear the soft but sudden intake of breath. "I am right?"

"Yes."

"And it troubles you that a former member has turned?"

So Amélie didn't know the whole truth; that was perfectly fine with Angela, and she was content to let the sniper continue believing that was the only reason. "Dr. O'Deorain is… brilliant, but her ethics and morals were always… ambiguous. She was limited by our standards here, but with Talon…" The implications were too troubling; it was something Angela did not enjoy thinking about and often avoided, considering she liked to sleep at night.

"You think she is responsible for what happened in Venice?" Amélie asked.

Angela let out a sigh. "Not entirely, but I am certain that she had a hand in it."

* * *

Moira did not appreciate distractions when she was trying to work (see exhibit A: Sombra), which was why the repeated sound of someone blowing air for whatever reason was threatening to drive her to homicide.

"All right, what game are you playing now?" Moira growled, finally unable to take it anymore and turning on the offender. She was unsurprised to find Tracer sitting on the couch, apparently frustrated with a segment of brown hair that kept falling in her face. With no separate room to hold the assassin in, Moira had been forced to keep Tracer with her; without the security of a holding room, the brunette needed constant supervision.

Moira couldn't even trust her cohorts to watch Tracer; Sombra would probably feed her more sugar, and Reaper… well, that would only end with holes in the walls.

Tracer blowing the same piece of hair from her face pulled Moira back to the present, and the geneticist decided that enough was enough.

"You have certainly turned into quite the project," Moira grumbled as she stood, moving to fetch a towel and a pair of scissors. She grabbed one of the stools, dragging it towards the middle of the room. "Tracer, come here."

The assassin paused at her name before she stood and approached, sitting on the provided stool. Moira draped the towel over her shoulders, doing her best to ensure that no stray hairs would fall into Tracer's suit. She may be in pain, but that didn't mean she had to be itchy as well; that was just torture.

"Now, sit very still," Moira said, taking a few moments to examiner Tracer's hair before she began cutting.

Tracer wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she knew she didn't want to be yelled at again, so she sat still, watching strands of brown hair fall to the floor.

It was silent as Moira worked, and the geneticist found her mind wandering.

" _Sit still, unless you want me to cut the tip of your ear off."_

" _I am still!"_

" _Child, you don't quite seem to grasp the definition of the word."_

 _Emily grumbled something in slightly broken Gaelic under her breath, and Moira rapped her on the head smartly._

" _Ow!"_

" _If you're going to insult me, at least use the proper term. Honestly."_

Moira let out a growl as she jerked herself from that memory. That life seemed ages ago, yet she could still remember her sister's kitchen perfectly, down to the horribly tacky shamrock wallpaper. And Emily… it had at least been a decade since she'd last seen her niece.

 _You know she isn't Emily. Tracer is an experiment, a weapon… just because they're around the same age—_

"Well that train of thought needs to stop right now," Moira found herself saying out loud, as if that could silence her brain and better persuade her.

Tracer let out a curious yawping noise, looking back at the geneticist.

"I said sit still," Moira said, turning Tracer's head forward again. She just needed to focus… just push those memories back into the deep recesses of her mind.

"Ooo, what's happening in here?"

So much for focusing. "Don't read into this, Sombra," Moira said, doing her best to ignore the no doubt shit-eating grin on the hacker's face.

"You expect me to just ignore the fact that you're giving Tracer a haircut?"

"It is merely maintenance; we must feed her too, yet I don't see you getting all worked up over that."

Sombra rolled her eyes before dropping onto Moira's couch. "Well, from what I hear, our little killer here will need to be battle ready soon."

Moira paused. "Elucidate."

The hacker had pulled up her purple screens and was absently typing; Moira had a feeling that Sombra was relishing the moment, keeping her in suspense like this.

"Don't think I am above setting Tracer on you," Moira growled.

"Easy; the boys have been discussing a potential target, someone too guarded for us to get close to. But Tracer… well, this is what she built for, _si_?"

Moira pressed her lips together. "An assassination mission then."

Sombra nodded.

Moira shook her head, resuming her haircutting. "Have you all forgotten what happened last time Tracer was taken out before she was ready? She still needs to be trained."

"That has been taken into consideration."

So they wanted this target to be Tracer's first then. Moira wondered just how long Talon was willing to wait. "Fine, but there is something I must test first."

* * *

Tracer had no idea where Moira was taking her. The geneticist had woken her in the middle of the night, and without an explanation, she had been blindfolded. The assassin began to struggle, but Moira's grip on her arm, followed by, "Calm down," had stopped her.

Now she was sitting in a seat, feeling the floor underneath her feet vibrate. Tracer wondered if she had done something wrong; perhaps there had been some order she hadn't followed.

The vibrating suddenly stopped, and Moira seized her arm again, pulling her to her feet and beginning to lead her to a destination unknown.

Tracer wasn't sure how long they'd been walking, but the blindfold suddenly came off, and the assassin blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted. She looked around, but their surroundings weren't familiar. They seemed to be in some sort of abandoned complex, and Tracer wondered why she had been brought out here.

"Here," Moira said, handing the assassin her helmet.

Tracer took it, unsure of what Moira wanted her to do.

"I'm going to leave," Moira said. "And whatever you do after that is up to you."

Leave? Where was she going? Tracer was feeling more lost than ever, and she let out a distressed noise.

Moira suddenly disappeared in a cloud of purple and black, and Tracer let out a distressed yell. She had never been on her own before, not like this. Why had Moira just left her? What did she want her to do?

 _You could run away._

 _To where?_

Tracer took a few steps forward, letting out a slightly panicked noise in the hopes that Moira would come back. The redhead was the only constant in her life…

Tracer looked down at the helmet in her hands before she put it on, waiting for the display to light up. She pressed the button for the heat signatures, scanning the area. She paused upon seeing one on the other side of a building, and she blinked towards it, eventually rounding the corner and returning the display to normal.

"Good," Moira said as the assassin approached her. Of course she had had no intention of just abandoning Tracer (the brunette was far too expensive for that), but she had to make sure Tracer would return if left on her own.

 _It would seem this attachment she's formed is good for something after all._

"Now, locate the transport," Moira said, her hands moving behind her back as she watched the assassin.

Tracer paused a moment before she blinked towards the building, clinging to the wall; with her higher vantage point, she was able to scan the area easier. Her gaze soon fell on the roof of the transport, and she blinked to the ground, starting for it. Every so often she would pause and turn back, making sure Moira was still following and giving her a chance to catch up before she continued.

The two soon reached the transport, and Tracer looked back at the redhead. She was unsure of what Moira had hoped to accomplish with this; her main concern was that she had done what she was told, which would hopefully mean she wouldn't be put back in that chair and punished.

"Very good," Moira said as the door to the transport opened, and the assassin followed her inside. "Tracer, there will come a time when we send you on missions in the field. You will be on your own, with no supervision; the only person you can rely on is yourself. It will be up to you to complete your objective and return to the transport. Do you understand?"

Tracer nodded; this had been some sort of test then. A test of her loyalty.

 _A test of your obedience; how well you follow their orders._

 _I am what they made me; I am a Talon assassin._


	10. Chapter 10

"It has been one month since Antonio's murder and Talon slipping through our fingers yet again, and we still have no leads." Jack let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "All we have is a destroyed facility and this picture of the supposed killer."

Ana crossed her arms as they looked at the picture for what seemed like the hundredth time; by now it had been burned into her memory. "Talon has remained relatively quiet since then; it is possible that whatever they were planning was disturbed by the murder."

Jack let out a grunt of agreement. "But how did they know we were coming? I still can't wrap my brain around any plausible explanation, except for one…"

"You think someone in our organization is helping them," Ana finished; she had heard this theory before.

"Why not? We lost both Reyes and O'Deorain to Talon." It was a possibility Jack didn't want to admit. "Two of our best agents…"

Ana's expression softened at that; she knew it killed Jack, the knowledge that they had lost their agents to a terrorist organization. She suspected the commander blamed himself, no matter what anyone else might try to say. "Their decisions are their own, through no fault of yours Jack."

Jack let out a breath as he leaned back in his chair. "How much do you trust Amélie?"

"You think she is the connection?"

"Ana, don't pretend as if you haven't noticed her changed behavior since her rescue."

"She was kidnapped and tortured—"

"And it was traumatizing, I know, but we don't know what happened in that facility and Amélie can't fully remember." Jack got to his feet before he said, "I'll have Winston check her phone and other communication devices."

Ana frowned; she knew why Jack was doing this, but that didn't mean it would go over well. "Do you really want to do this? You know there will be no going back; Amélie will never trust us again, not fully—"

"I have to. We have to eliminate her as the possible leak." Jack paused upon seeing the look on Ana's face. "I know you trust her, but we have to be sure."

* * *

"Well, I think that about wraps it up for today," Angela said as she closed her notebook.

"What happens when we run out of things to talk about?" Amélie asked as the two got to their feet. "Will our sessions finally come to an end?"

Angela shrugged. "If you feel as though you no longer need them, though you know I will always be available if you have the urge to talk."

Amélie nodded; the past month had seemed to go a bit easier than the others, and Amélie was even beginning to let herself believe that her life was starting to slip back into a sense of normalcy. Being able to participate in missions again had helped, even with her slight hiccup with Vasha (she'd heard quite an earful from Ana after that). Still, Amélie knew she'd done the right thing; a few days after releasing Vasha, the sniper had received a postcard from Numbani. No return address, no name, nothing but a scrawled message of "Thank you".

There was a knock at the door, and Angela's brow furrowed slightly before she went to open it. "Jack—"

"Is Amélie still here?"

The sniper approached, not entirely sure why Jack was asking for her; usually Ana came to fetch her for missions. "Commander?"

Jack turned his attention to the French woman before he said, "Your phone; I need it."

This was an unusual request. "My phone? Why?"

"Just a routine check."

Amélie's gaze narrowed. "You're lying to me."

Jack paused a moment before he said, "We need to check for Talon interference."

"Talon interference—you think I'm working for them?" Now it made sense; she should have known better than to believe that they all truly trusted her.

"Maybe not directly, but the reality of the matter is that you have been inside their facility—"

"Against my will! I was kidnapped and tortured—"

"And you don't remember everything that happened. Talon has remained one step ahead of us, and right now, we need to investigate every possibility. Now, your phone."

Amélie shook her head as she pulled her phone from her pocket. "You honestly believe I would help those people after what they did to me, after they murdered my husband—"

"So you say."

Amélie stopped dead at that. "So I say?" she repeated slowly. Being accused of working with Talon was bad enough, but what Jack was implying now… that was more than she could handle. She began sputtering angrily in a mixture of French, English, and some other language only known to her, unable to find words in any language to convey just how enraged she was.

"Amélie, don't—" Angela started, seeing how close the sniper was to losing it.

"You think I killed my husband!" Amélie finally managed, fixing her gaze on the commander.

"Nobody is saying that—"

"You don't have to; I can see it in the way you look at me, just like the way every other person here looks at me!" Amélie all but threw her phone at Jack, too angry to feel guilty about it. "Next I suppose you'll want my tablet, or you'll start checking my mail—"

"We already have everything we need."

Amélie's eyes widened. "You went through my things?" Before the commander could respond, Amélie pushed past him and began running down the hallway.

"Jack, this isn't necessary," Angela said with a frown, turning the commander's attention back to her. "I have spent months working with Amélie, trying to help her readjust to life and feel comfortable, and your treating her like a criminal will only undo all our progress."

"I have already explained myself," Jack said, looking down at the phone in his hand.

"You can't honestly believe that Amélie—"

"I didn't honestly believe that Gabriel could betray us, and yet he shot me in the back. And you couldn't honestly believe that your wife would betray us, and she stole your technology before joining Talon." Jack looked up at the doctor, and she could see the pain behind his hardened gaze. "So I guess in the end we don't really know what anyone is capable of, do we?"

* * *

Tracer let out a yell as she blinked down to the floor, running towards her target and tackling it. She attacked a few times with her blades, jumping back upon hearing gunshots. She blinked to the opposite wall, clinging for a few moments before she blinked again, slamming into the training bot and using her blades to cut the head clean off. The assassin jumped back, slicing through the other training bot approaching her. She scanned the room for any other enemies; when she didn't see any, she turned and ran to the designated "transport" area, hitting the red button once she arrived.

"Good work," came Moira's voice over the speaker. "Ninety seconds that time."

Tracer removed her helmet as the door to the training room opened, and Moira entered. The brunette remained still as Moira approached and removed the blades from her armor. The redhead had just turned back around when Tracer let out a noise that was a mix between a yawp and a growl.

"Oh, I suppose," Moira said, reaching into her lab coat pocket and pulling out a small wrapped candy. She handed it over to the brunette before she continued out of the room, Tracer following behind as she unwrapped her candy.

"So when you give her candy, it's 'positive reinforcement', but when I do it, it's 'wrong' and 'a finger losing offense'," Sombra said as the two emerged from the training room.

"The difference is that when I do it, I actually have a reason and know what I'm doing," Moira replied as Tracer ate her candy.

Sombra rolled her eyes. "I thought the whole pain suit thing was supposed to be the positive reinforcement."

Moira gave the hacker a look; honestly, the children she was forced to work with. "I used pain to break Tracer, and the suit keeps her in line, keeps her from ripping us apart. She knows the consequences of disobedience."

"So the candy is just you being nice?"

The redhead scowled. "It reinforces desired behavior, and she only gets it when she exceeds her previous performance."

"I see." Sombra paused a moment before she added, "So when do I get to try the Irish candies?"

"When you do something that doesn't annoy me, so good luck."

Tracer absently listened to the conversation as she sucked on her candy, savoring it; she always did her best to make it last as long as she could. Over the past month, everything had fallen into a sort of routine, one that Tracer had almost begun to become used to. Most of her time was spent training now, with the only breaks being to eat or sleep. On rare occasions, Moira would read to her or give her one of those wrapped candies, as she had today.

It wasn't an ideal life, she knew that much, but it was the closest thing to normal that she had.

* * *

"Why do I have to watch her, I'm not a babysitter."

"You are not part of the inner council," Moira replied as she slung her bag over her shoulder, checking once again to ensure she had all her research. "And it is too much of a risk to bring Tracer, so she needs to remain here."

Sombra crossed her arms, still not looking convinced.

"Don't act like that; you would have been left behind either way. At least now you have something to entertain yourself with."

"You know, I'm curious, what is it exactly that you think I do all day? You think I just idly wait for you to hand down tasks like this?"

"I don't concern myself with your affairs, but you seem to find enough time in the day to annoy me, so I hardly think one overnight trip will interrupt your schedule." Moira looked back at the hacker before she added, "Dinner is at seven; give her exactly what I have listed and nothing else."

"Should I read her a bedtime story too?" Sombra all but spat.

"If she doesn't listen to you, then reading will calm her, yes." Moira approached Tracer, who was sitting on the couch. "I will be leaving for a brief time, and despite how annoying she is, do your best to obey Sombra until I return."

Tracer glanced at the hacker before she looked back at Moira, letting out a noise from the back of her throat.

Moira nodded before she turned back towards Sombra, adding, "And don't even think about touching her blades unless you want to be ripped apart," before she left the room.

Sombra muttered a few choice words in Spanish before she turned to face Tracer, who was looking at her. "Well, I guess it's just you and me."

Tracer obviously didn't reply, instead just staring at the hacker.

* * *

"Here are all your personal effects back."

There was a stony silence as Amélie picked up her items, her golden eyes refusing to even meet Jack's.

The commander did his best to keep from shifting uncomfortably; as Ana had said, there was nothing on any of Amélie's devices to link her to Talon. Whoever their leak was, it was not the French woman.

"I know you're angry, but you know why we had to do this," Jack said.

"We, or you?" Amélie finally looked up at him, her expression cold.

It was only three words, but it held multiple implications: he was the paranoid one, he was the one losing control of his team, he was the one who had singled Amélie out despite protests by his peers.

"Amélie—"

"This team will never trust me again; I will always be looked at as an outsider." Amélie shook her head, and a small thought that she had tried so hard to bury for months now emerged again.

 _Perhaps my time at Overwatch needs to come to an end._

* * *

"They think they can keep me out, but the joke is on them. Getting into places I shouldn't is my specialty." Sombra let out a laugh as she continued typing on her screens.

From where she was watching the hacker, Tracer let out a curious yawping noise.

"Now, let's see what we have," Sombra said after another minute or so.

"… _and I am to understand that Antonio was murdered, by your own experiment Doctor."_

" _I repeatedly warned Antonio of the danger, and he chose to ignore me. If nothing else, his death proves that my experiment has been a success so far."_

That was Moira's voice, but Tracer didn't see the redhead anywhere. She let out a low noise, approaching the hacker and reaching out to touch her screens.

"Don't touch," Sombra said, giving her hand a light smack.

Tracer let out a low growl.

"It's just an audio feed from the meeting," the hacker continued. "As long as our Doctor doesn't discover my little bug, we'll be able to hear everything that's going on."

" _A success that caused the loss of one of our largest financial supporters; if I recall, your little project was financed by Antonio in the first place."_

" _And if I recall, I was given the task of developing an assassin for Talon, which I have done."_

" _So it is ready then?"_

" _Not completely—"_

" _Then you have not succeeded_."

"Wow, they are really giving her the business," Sombra said, glancing at Tracer.

" _If I may speak to the Doctor's project_ ," a new voice said, and something in Tracer's mind told her that she had heard it before. " _The assassin is certainly deadly; even several of Antonio's armed men couldn't stop it. All it seems to lack is discipline and control."_

" _So you have seen this assassin yourself then, Maximilien?"_

" _I have; Antonio invited me to his estate and proposed an investment in the project."_

" _He wanted to profit off my research?_ " Moira didn't sound happy in the slightest.

" _That appeared to be his intention. If I may be so bold, his death may actually have come at an opportune time; who knows what he had planned for your assassin. If he was willing to go behind your back, it is very likely he had planned to do it to more of us."_

" _In any case, we need a new source of income; Overwatch will be all over Antonio's estate and his assets will be frozen_ ," a new voice said.

" _And I take it you have an idea_?" That was Reaper, and he didn't sound convinced by whoever this new speaker was.

" _I do, actually. For some time now, I have been… attempting to convince one Katya Volskaya to contribute finances to our organization_."

Moira let out an amused noise. " _I can only imagine how resistant she has been to such."_

 _"Very much so; that is where your assassin comes in_."

A pause, and then, " _You do realize that she is an 'assassin', correct? Katya cannot pay us if she is dead."_

" _Then send someone to keep it from actually killing her_."

Moira was silent at that, and Sombra could just picture the annoyed look on her face as she pressed her lips together.

" _If Katya has been resistant so far, I highly doubt further intimidation will be successful_ ," Moira said.

" _I have another target in mind_ ," another new voice said. " _The Vishkar is already involved in some questionable deals; I'm sure they would be… agreeable if one of our associates had a chat with them. Of course, having an assassin as backup doesn't hurt either_."

" _No, Katya is the better option; we have already been putting pressure on her—_ "

" _And it has amounted to nothing. We can keep her in mind for a later date, but we are in a difficult situation right now. We need a more immediate option. So, tell us_ _O'Deorain: is the assassin ready for a mission or not?"_

" _I need more time—"_

" _You have one week; we cannot remain idle_."

* * *

One week to prepare. While it was true that Tracer's training had been going well, Moira couldn't honestly say that she was one hundred percent confident that Tracer was ready to go out into the field again, even with supervision.

The redhead glanced over at Tracer, who was curled up on the couch. Even while asleep, Tracer seemed to be troubled and in pain, and every now and again she would twitch and jerk.

"Will she be ready in one week?"

Moira let out a sigh. "I honestly can't say for sure."

Reaper let out a sort of "hmm"ing noise and crossed his arms. "What happens if she can't—"

"What do you think?" Moira almost growled, finally looking at him. "Talon won't expend any resources to get her back if she is arrested or captured; she can't speak, so she can't give away any information."

Reaper paused for a moment before he said, "You actually care—"

"Tracer was expensive, and represents almost a year of work, so you'll forgive me if I am less than eager to throw it all down the drain." Moira let out a sigh and rubbed her eyes. "She has made progress, but bringing her out into the field is a risky move."

"It's a risk we'll have to take; the Council has made their decision."

"I am well aware of such."

Reaper let out a sigh. "Though this does push our plans back; we had another target in mind for Tracer's first mission."

"Yes, well, that will have to wait." Moira paused for a moment. "What is left now is for us to plan the mission, and I must alter Tracer's training to prepare her. She is used to killing, but this time, we only need her for intimidation."

They were talking about her. Tracer knew they thought she was asleep, though the truth was that she never really slept. Not fully anyway; there were times where she drifted into a sort of semi-conscious state, but full, dream-inducing sleep never happened.

She could understand why Moira was hesitant; the last time she'd been out in the field, she had supposedly murdered Antonio and several of his men (an incident she still couldn't remember). Tracer wanted to believe that she was better now, that all her training had helped her self-control. She didn't want a repeat of Antonio's estate; she didn't want to be that mindless killer again.

 _But you're still a killer._

 _That's what they made me into, but they tell me whom to kill. I can control my actions now._

 _You're a weapon; they control you._


	11. Chapter 11

"We have one week to prepare you for your first mission. Not a solo mission, but an important one nonetheless. I know this goes against everything we have been instilling in you, but this is not an assassination mission. You may need to eliminate guards, but we mainly need you for intimidation." Moira paused, looking at Tracer. "Do you understand?"

Tracer wasn't entirely sure if she understood all the words Moira was using, but the main points seemed to be that she was going back into the field, and they didn't want her to kill. She let out a yawping noise and scratched her head.

Moira let out a sigh. This was why she had wanted more time; she just didn't know if she could prepare Tracer properly in such a short amount of time.

"Listen, we will be with you during this mission; it won't be like Antonio's estate," the geneticist continued. "Do as I say, and don't wander off. You need to stay with me the whole time."

Tracer nodded; she wasn't entirely keen on being on her own in the field anyway, so wandering off was not something she planned to do.

"Good. With any luck, this mission will go off without a hitch, and I can finally prove to everyone that all my work has not been in vain. Perhaps then they will finally stop questioning both my methods and my intelligence."

* * *

Night had fallen over Utopaea when the group arrived, and as they exited the transport, Tracer paused at the sight of the massive building that towered above all the others. It seemed to be made mostly of glass and some silver metal, and was lit brilliantly. There were some lighted letters at the top, and Tracer let out a few low noises, as if in an attempt to sound them out.

"Tracer."

The brunette looked over at her name before she blinked to where Moira was standing with the others.

"Put your helmet on," Reaper said. "We'll be moving in soon."

Tracer did as she was told, and stood still as Moira attached the blades to her armor.

"Sombra, are we almost in?" Reaper asked.

Sombra let out an affirmative noise from where she was looking at her screens. "Their security is pretty high-end; I can't shut down everything at once, or it will trigger the back-up system and alert them to our presence. I'll have to shut it down piece by piece as we move through." The hacker typed for a few more moments before she said, " All right, is everyone ready?"

Tracer honestly didn't know if she was ready; what if she lost control again? She liked to think she was better, but the truth was that she didn't know for sure. However, she didn't time to consider because the group began to move, and the brunette quickly followed after Moira. The group made their way through the first door, and Sombra suddenly disappeared, while Reaper vanished in cloud of black smoke.

"Stay right with me," Moira said in a hushed tone; it would be safer if she could fade, but that had the potential to confuse Tracer and possibly leave her behind. The geneticist started moving, pausing before she rounded a corner, putting an arm out to stop Tracer.

" _Hallway camera is down,"_ came Sombra's voice through her comm.

Moira quickly rounded the corner, catching the guard in her biotic grasp and watching his body drop to the floor. She made her way down the hallway, Tracer following closely behind. The two made their way up several stairs, emerging into another hallway.

"Sombra, cameras," Moira said, putting a hand to her ear.

" _Give me a moment."_

"Sombra—"

" _Look, I'm getting two separate groups through security here, give me a break_."

A few moments passed, during which Moira felt more restless. She didn't like being idle this long, they needed to move—

" _All right, you're clear."_

Two guards suddenly rounded the corner, and before Moira could even think to summon an orb, Tracer let out a yell, blinking forward and tackling the first guard, driving her blades into him. She heard the sound of a gun click, and she threw herself at the second guard, slamming him up against the wall and driving both of her blades through his chest.

 _He's dead. Step back._

Tracer pulled her blades free before she took a few steps back, her chest heaving slightly. She turned back to Moira and approached the geneticist, looking up at her. She hadn't been told to kill, but the guards had guns, and they would have tried to shoot if given the chance.

"Good work," Moira said. "Let's continue." The redhead made her way around the corner, Tracer following. Eventually the two reached one of the top floors, and Moira put an arm out, stopping the assassin.

"Sombra, is the target still in the room?" Moira asked.

"Don't worry, she's there," Sombra said, appearing beside the two.

There was the sudden sound of gunshots, and Reaper soon came around the opposite corner, firing his shotguns as he backed up. He soon tossed the empty guns to the floor, drawing two new ones from under his cloak.

"What did you do?" Moira growled.

"We have company," was Reaper's short reply.

"She's going to hear this and lockdown the room; we have to get in now!" Sombra said before she rushed forward.

"Sombra, wait—" Moira started, but it was obvious that the hacker wasn't going to listen to her. She swore under her breath as her gaze fell on approaching guards, and she summoned one of her orbs.

Tracer looked between Moira and Sombra before she made the decision to bring the hacker back; that was what Moira wanted, right? The assassin blinked forward, catching Sombra in a tackle. However, the momentum from her blink caused them both to tumble forward, going through the doorway right before a steel door closed it off.

Sombra let out a string of annoyed Spanish as she got to her feet, looking at the brunette. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

Tracer stood as well, letting out a low growl.

"Don't growl at me in that tone of voice. You tackled me!"

Tracer let out another growl, louder this time.

"Fine, we can agree to disagree. But we're in this together now, so do you have my back?"

Tracer nodded.

"Good. Now, let's go find our architect."

" _Sombra!_ "

The hacker winced at Moira's harsh voice in her ear. "How can I direct your call?"

" _Sombra, what were you thinking, this was not part of the plan!"_

"Hey, Reaper was the one who brought all the guards up here—"

" _Is Tracer all right?"_

Sombra made a face at that. "She tackled me, but thanks for your concern."

" _I mean her demeanor. If she becomes too overwhelmed, you'll lose control of her. We can't have a repeat of Antonio's estate."_

"I can handle her."

Moira let out a snort of derision at that. " _That remains to be seen_."

Sombra chose to ignore the geneticist as she glanced around the darkened offices. "All right, you check those rooms and I'll go this way," she said after a moment.

" _That's a terrible idea_ ," came Moira's voice.

"That way she has less of a chance to prepare for our arrival. Give a yell if you find her, yeah?" Sombra continued.

" _You're expanding on what could be your worst idea ever_."

The hacker started off in one direction, and after watching her for a few moments, Tracer went the other way. She still wasn't exactly sure who they were after or why, or what she was supposed to do if she even found their target.

A sudden pain struck Tracer as she passed through a doorway, and she let out a growl. It almost felt like Moira's biotic grasp, but instead of sapping her energy, it seemed to slow her down. Tracer let out another growl before she blinked forward, whipping around and seeing several small, round bots posted on the wall around the doorway.

"State your business here."

Tracer paused at the cool voice, and she turned to see a dark-skinned woman dressed in blue looking at her. Aside from her robotic left arm, she had an odd device in her right hand, and the assassin wondered if this was the person she was supposed to keep from killing.

The woman was obviously displeased with her silence and raised the odd device. A blue beam came from it, latching onto the assassin, and the familiar pain returned. Tracer let out an angry noise and jumped back, her muscles tense. Coupled with her suit, her pain level was starting to build beyond the usual level, and she was beginning to become agitated.

"I said, state your business," the woman repeated.

"I'm afraid my friend here can't answer your question," Sombra said, suddenly appearing beside the assassin. However, once her gaze fully settled on the architect, she felt her face grow hot.

Of course Sombra knew who Satya Vaswani was; she had done research on the architect before they'd arrived, but the hacker hadn't been prepared to actually see her in person. Now, Sombra didn't consider herself one to be distracted by the appearance of others; in all honesty, she couldn't even recall the last time she'd felt attracted to anyone.

So the fact that she was caught so entirely off-guard by Satya certainly gave her reason to pause.

"Your friend?" Satya was looking at them in a way that implied they impressed her as much as dirt might. "Peculiar; the gunfire outside would imply that you are here with less than friendly intentions."

Sombra shrugged, trying to regain her casual demeanor. "In our defense, they did shoot at first."

"Because you were breaking in."

"Why get bogged down with all the details? What matters is that we are here now, so let's have a little chat."

Satya's eyes narrowed behind her visor. "If you have not come here to kill me, then you want something."

"Right down to business." Sombra approached the architect, who still looked far less than impressed. "You don't have to be so professional about it; after all, there's no reason this can't just be a discussion between friends."

" _Sombra—"_

The hacker pulled her communicator from her ear, flicking it aside; Moira's voice was the last one she wanted to hear right now.

"Is that what you want? A friend?" Satya asked.

"I enjoy having friends."

"Then perhaps you should consider getting a nice cocker spaniel."

At that moment, Sombra was glad Tracer was the only one around; at least she wouldn't be able to tell anyone about this (or laugh).

Sombra became aware that Tracer was beside her, holding something out to her. The hacker glanced to see that it was her communicator, and she waved the assassin away.

"Let me offer some incentive," Sombra said, pulling up her screens and displaying several images and documents in front of Satya. "Now, how would people feel if they knew the Vishkar's motives were, how did you put it? 'Less than friendly'. Your company wants everyone to believe they're working towards a common goal, but we both know that isn't true, don't we?"

Satya was silent for a few long moments as she considered the screens in front of her. "What is it that you want?" Satya finally asked, looking at the hacker.

"I have an investment proposition for you," Sombra said, making herself comfortable on the desk. "You consider funding a little organization I work for, and I will make sure these documents stay buried."

"So blackmail then. How original." Somehow Satya made being threatened sound boring and trite.

Sombra frowned slightly as she retracted her screens. "Could you at least pretend to be intimidated? Doesn't the assassin even help a little bit?"

Satya regarded Tracer again. "She's a little short to take seriously." The architect looked back at Sombra pointedly, and it took the hacker a few moments to realize what she was implying.

"I assure you, we can both do quite a bit of damage, regardless of size," Sombra said.

Satya nodded, and for the briefest of moments, her gaze went sad. "I do not doubt that, based on the blood currently adorning your assassin's armor. Tell me, how many people did you kill to get to me?"

Tracer remained silent, holding Satya's gaze.

"The numbers aren't important," Sombra said, pulling Satya's attention back to her. "Do we have a deal or not?"

Satya looked at Sombra for a long moment before she said, "A deal benefits both parties. I will arrange for Talon to receive funding." Satya paused at Sombra's expression. "You needn't look so surprised; that is why Sanjay sent you here, correct?" The architect didn't wait for an answer as she crossed her arms and added, "You will receive your money, provided you assist me in return. And when I say you, I do mean you alone, as in without Talon's knowledge."

Sombra's eyebrows rose at that. People didn't usually try to negotiate with her like this. She was intrigued enough to ask, "And what could you want from a simple hacker like me?"

"There is nothing simple about you, and now is not the time to discuss such. Do we have a deal or not?"

They had underestimated Satya, and Sombra wondered if perhaps she had met her match. "All right, we have a deal. I'll be in touch."

"I'm sure you will."

* * *

If Amélie had felt ostracized before, Jack's accusation of her Talon association had only caused it to increase tenfold. The sniper could feel the shift in the mood as she entered the room; eyes on her, wondering what she might do, wondering if there was even a slight possibility that there was a grain of truth to Jack's suspicion.

Amélie did her best to hold her head up and ignore the others as she made her way through the kitchen, taking her mug from the cupboard and pulling the carafe from the coffeemaker. Behind her, she could hear only silence, and the French woman wanted nothing more than to turn around and shout at them all. To tell them that they were wrong, that she was innocent, that she had suffered at Talon's hands, something she had never asked for; they had killed her husband, for God's sake!

Amélie became aware of a wetness on her hand, and she swore upon realizing she had lost focus while pouring her coffee and her mug was overflowing. The sniper replaced the carafe before she grabbed a few paper towels, beginning to clean up.

"That coffee was cold anyway."

Amélie looked up, seeing McCree standing beside her, a paper towel in his hand as well. The sniper didn't reply as she continued cleaning up, tossing the used paper towels in the garbage with barely a second glance.

"There's that pinpoint accuracy," McCree said; he was obviously trying to lighten the mood, but was failing miserably. He paused a moment before he said, "Listen… no one here really believes you killed Gerard or had a hand in it… but you never told anyone what happened that day. It might… it might be easier for us to sympathize with you if you…"

"If I what?" Amélie finally said, looking at McCree. "If I tell what you happened that day? If I tell you about the nightmare I walked into?" The sniper turned, facing everyone. "Fine, I will tell you all, since you all seem so curious. I will tell you what happened."

* * *

"When it's not raining, it's boiling." Amélie let out a sigh from where she was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a glass of orange juice against her forehead.

"It isn't any worse than back home," Gerard said, smiling slightly. "You've just grown accustomed to the weather in Switzerland." He glanced at his watch, his mustache twitching before he added, "Do you think you'd be up to going out for groceries?"

Amélie gave her husband a look. "I just complained about the heat, and you want me to go outside?"

"The store is only a few blocks away—"

"No, Gerard."

Gerard stood and approached his wife, leaning down to kiss her neck. "Come on, you bring home some groceries, and I'll make us something delicious for tonight."

"Do not try and persuade me, I cannot be won over so easily—"

"No, but I am a persistent man, which our marriage can attest to."

Amélie smiled slightly before she said, "Fine, if only to get you off my back, both literally and figuratively. It's too hot for you to be hanging on me this way." Amélie shrugged her husband off before she stood. "I expect a nice bottle of wine to be waiting for me when I return."

"Of course, my love."

The trip to the market was less than exciting, and Amélie was certainly ready for that glass of wine after making the trek up to the third floor. She fumbled with her keys a bit, almost dropping one of the bags as she unlocked the front door.

"You could have opened the door, Gerard," the French woman called, using her foot to close the door behind her. "Sending me out to get groceries was one thing, but not even assisting your wife when she arrives home..." Amélie reached the table and set the bags down, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. Her brow furrowed slightly at the lack of a full wine glass sitting on the table, but what troubled her more was the fact that Gerard had yet to show himself. "Gerard?"

Still no response from her husband, and the French woman let out a sigh, starting for the bedroom.

"Gerard, I swear, if you are laying on the bed wearing nothing but that stupid tasseled pillow again—"

Amélie stopped short upon opening the door, and her heart immediately shot into her throat.

Blood on the floor. Blood staining the sheets. Blood still dripping from Gerard's lifeless body.

Amélie didn't remember if she screamed, or ran to him, or remained rooted to the spot. All she could remember was a single, pervasive thought:

 _Talon came back to finish the job, and I'm next._

* * *

"Gerard was dead when I returned. I never saw who did it, but I know." Amélie closed her eyes, willing the image away. She saw it enough in her nightmares, relieved it enough without having to drag it back out for everyone. The sniper opened her eyes, focusing on the others. "And now you all know; perhaps that will cross your minds the next time you think to look at me with suspicion disguised as pity."


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello all :) Just a quick note to say thank you to everyone who has read/ reviewed, and also to answer a question I've been getting asked a lot. This is an AU where Tracer was never part of Overwatch; that is why they have not sent any kind of rescue team after her. The rest will be explained in later chapters; hope that clears everything up :)**

* * *

Angela frowned, checking her watch again. Her session with Amélie was scheduled to start ten minutes ago. She knew the French woman didn't particularly enjoy their sessions, but it was not like her to be late.

The blonde stood and went to the door, opening it and peering out into the hallway. Her gaze fell on Ana, who was sipping from a steaming cup of tea, her gaze focused on the tablet in her hand.

"Ana, have you seen Amélie?" the doctor asked. "Did you perhaps send her on a mission and neglect to tell me?"

Ana looked up, her brow furrowing. "I have not sent Amélie anywhere, but let me see if I can find her."

* * *

Amélie was not difficult to find, particularly because she was not trying to hide.

"Planning on going somewhere?"

Amélie looked up from where she had been packing, seeing Ana in the doorway. A hundred different lies and explanations went through her mind for a brief moment, but the sniper merely said, "I am leaving Overwatch."

Ana frowned; she had been afraid of something like this. "Amélie—"

"Please, don't try to change my mind. I cannot work with a team that does not trust me; I cannot work with people who would believe that I would betray them."

Ana couldn't argue with Amélie there; the captain trusted her charge, but she couldn't make everyone else trust her too, especially not after what Jack had done. "Though I hate to see you go, you must do what you feel is best. I wonder if before you go though you will indulge me one final mission?"

Amélie let out a sigh. "Captain, please—"

"It's just a guard detail, nothing terribly difficult."

Despite herself, Amélie found her curiosity piqued. "That isn't a usual job for Overwatch."

"This situation is a rather historic one, or it is going to be. Our presence has been kindly requested." Ana could tell she had Amélie interested. "What do you say? One last mission with your mentor before you leave us?"

Amélie knew she should say no; she should refuse the mission and just continue her packing, though her curiosity was getting the better of her. "Fine. One last mission, but that is it. After this, I leave Overwatch for good."

* * *

This was it; this would be the first real test of Tracer's abilities. The culmination of all of Moira's hard work.

"I still have reservations about this," Moira said, giving Reaper a look.

"She was separated from you during our last mission, and she did just fine. She refrained from killing Vaswani, just as you instructed her, even when she was attacked." Reaper crossed his arms. "She can handle this, and we need to show the Council that we know what we're doing." A pause. "Unless you want them to send in someone else—"

"I can handle Tracer," the geneticist growled. "I just think we should have waited more than three days before we undertook this mission." She looked back at the file on her tablet, swiping through a few pages.

King's Row. The place Tracer had been pulled from. Moira hadn't asked about details when Tracer had first been brought to her, of course, but she had heard the brunette say enough to recognize her accent. Moira honestly didn't know how Tracer would react to being brought back to her home; she had erased her memories, yes, but there was always the possibility that some sort of trigger could bring them back.

Moira paused upon reaching the photo of the target, and she looked over at where Tracer was sitting. The assassin was staring out the window of the transport; if she recognized the area, there was no sign of it in her expression. The redhead stood and approached her, turning the tablet to face her.

"Listen carefully: this is your target," Moira said, showing Tracer the photo. "Once we drop you off, you will track and eliminate the target. Your target is the only thing you kill; no one else dies. Eliminate it quickly and then immediately report back to the transport. Do not delay. Do you understand?"

Tracer nodded, though her expression was almost impossible to read.

"We will see."

The door to the transport opened, and Tracer exited, looking back at the redhead.

"Do not disappoint me," Moira said before the door closed, leaving Tracer on her own.

-/-

 _Find the target and eliminate it._

She was on her own now… this was her first solo mission, and she had to prove that she could handle herself. Just like before at the abandoned complex, the thought of running went through her mind for a brief moment, but to where? Talon was the only life she knew; she would never be able get along on her own, and being in constant pain with no way to end it… well, it wasn't ideal.

So her only other option was to do as she was told, and do it exactly how Talon wanted.

Tracer started through the streets, keeping to the darker alleys; she figured it would be better if civilians didn't see her and start panicking. She blinked and clung to a nearby wall, pressing the button on her helmet to activate the heat signature display as she scanned the nearby buildings. There were multiple humans moving inside, but her target was not a human. The assassin continued to scan the heat signatures, eventually locating two omnics. Tracer blinked to the next wall, repositioning herself so she was facing the window and could see inside. She switched her helmet back to the normal view so she could identify the two omnics.

Her target was one of them.

With one more blink, Tracer went crashing through the window, sending glass shards scattering. Her gaze fell on her target as she slowly straightened up, and she was acutely aware of all the guns trained on her.

The target began to flee, and Tracer let out a yell, beginning to give chase, but was immediately met with a hail of bullets. The brunette quickly blinked backwards, clinging to the wall.

 _Get rid of them._

 _No, I'm only supposed to kill the target._

Tracer paused a moment before she blinked again, cutting through the nearby guns with her blades and rendering them useless. She blinked forward before they could react, skidding out into the hallway. A quick scan of the area didn't reveal anything, and she activated the heat signature display again.

Her target was currently running up the staircase, and Tracer began blinking up the walls instead of climbing the stairs themselves. She managed to just beat them up the stairs, sliding in front of them at the top. The two guards with them opened fire, driving the assassin back and forcing her to blink out of the way. She let out a yell as she blinked forward, tackling the guard hard enough to cause his head to hit the floor, knocking him out. She kicked the second guard, sending him tumbling down the stairs. She whipped around to locate her target, spotting the omnic just in time to see them entering a room. She blinked forward just as the door to the room slammed shut, causing her to ram into it.

Tracer let out a feral yell, attacking it with her blades, though they had little effect on the metal other than creating a shower of sparks. Once it became apparent that she wouldn't be getting through that way, Tracer took a step back, her chest heaving slightly as she examined the area.

 _I can't fail… I have to eliminate the target._

* * *

"We should be safe for the time being," Zenyatta said after the pounding on the door had stopped, and there was silence for a minute or two.

"Did you hear the sounds she made?" Mondatta said, sounding troubled. "She is in a state of distress and pain; whatever has been done to her, it is forcing her to behave this way."

"Sympathy for a would-be assassin?" Zenyatta understood where his brother was coming from though.

"You know as well as I that we cannot turn our backs on anyone, especially those who need us most—"

The window behind Mondatta suddenly shattered as Tracer launched herself through, landing between the brothers. Before Mondatta could react, Tracer let out another yell, blinking forward and tackling him around the middle, sending them both hurtling out the broken window.

As they were falling, Tracer began to relentlessly attack the omnic with her blades, causing the familiar dark substance to spatter against her armor. She knew they were almost to the ground, and she blinked away, clinging to a nearby wall and allowing the body to hit the ground with bone-chilling thud.

The brunette blinked to the ground and approached the motionless omnic, looking down at dark stains on his clothing.

 _You shouldn't have killed him._

 _I had to._

 _Why?_

 _Because he was the target._

 _But he wasn't bad._

 _It doesn't matter. Dead is dead._

"Freeze."

Tracer paused at the voice, looking over to see a woman aiming a rifle at her. Her gaze fell on the familiar patch on her sleeve, and her eyes widened behind her helmet.

 _Overwatch._

Overwatch was the enemy. Overwatch needed to be eliminated. If this woman was Overwatch, then she needed to die.

-/-

They were too late.

They had only just arrived in King's Row that afternoon, and were supposed to meet with Mondatta that evening. Obviously someone had managed to beat them to the omnic, and Amélie had a feeling that Talon had struck again.

When Mondatta had gone crashing through the window, there was little they could have done to save him. Against all better judgment and against her very nature, Ana had decided to approach his killer, instructing Amélie to take up a higher cover position. Now, from her perch on a nearby roof, the French woman watched the two through her scope. She knew what her role was; if this assassin made one wrong move, she was to take the shot.

"Put your hands up," Ana said, keeping her rifle trained on the assassin as she approached. She had looked at that picture so many times that it had only taken her a moment to recognize the figure in front of her. This was the assassin responsible for the massacre at Antonio's estate, and yet… something had changed. The assassin had killed Mondatta, there was no doubt or condoning that, but the scene in Venice had been bloody and frenzied. This… this was calculated; Mondatta had been the sole target. There were no bodies strewn about, and the chaos inside indicated that many people were still alive. Even now, the assassin did not attack, even with a weapon trained on her.

 _So what changed in you?_

Despite all that, Ana still had little confidence that she would be able to talk this assassin down, but she at least had to try.

Tracer kept her gaze trained on the sniper as she approached, her brain not registering what she was saying. All she knew was that this was Overwatch.

 _You're only here for the target—_

 _Overwatch must DIE!_

Amélie could read her body language, and she knew what the assassin was going to do before it even happened. Despite all that, something held her back, and she did something she had been trained never to do, something Ana had drilled into her time and time again.

She hesitated.

The consequences were immediate.

The assassin moved with unnatural speed and was on Ana in a second, before the sniper could even let out a cry or noise of distress. Amélie could see it all happening in slow motion through her scope, and she felt as though her limbs had been filled with lead; moving seemed impossible.

The assassin let out another feral noise before bringing the first blade down.

A spurt of blood, and Amélie's brain finally managed to contact her limbs, as though she'd touched her tongue to a car battery.

She fired off a shot, which caught the assassin's helmet and caused them to recoil, looking towards the source of the shot. Half of their helmet was now missing, and Amélie could see that it was a young woman.

Her eyes were frenzied, teeth bared. An expression of hate and rage so intense that Amélie held her breath, knowing that she was too far to be seen, but she felt that hate rock her to her core.

The assassin was a person; flesh and blood and breathing. A real person, not some machine.

"What have they done to you?"

The assassin let out another feral yell before she blinked away, and Amélie fired at her retreating back, missing by inches. The sniper paused for a moment before she grappled off the building, quickly running to her mentor's side.

"Captain!"

Ana was clutching the right side of her face, blood staining her hands and running down her skin and onto her clothes. There was so much blood… Amélie knew it was only a matter of time before the captain fell unconscious or bled out.

 _Gerard was lying in the bed motionless, a drop of blood falling every few seconds from the tip of his finger onto the floor, his blood was staining the sheets and it was her fault, her fault—_

The French woman quickly pressed a hand to her ear as she desperately said, "Captain Amari is down, we need an emergency evacuation now!"

* * *

"You're late," Moira said as Tracer entered the transport, the door closing behind her. "I told you not to delay; next time we won't wait for you." She frowned slightly upon seeing the damage to Tracer's helmet; she had expected some sort of resistance, yes, but that was more than she'd anticipated.

Tracer didn't respond (not that Moira expected one), and the redhead let out a sigh.

"Did you eliminate the target?" Reaper asked.

Tracer nodded.

"We'll see soon enough," Moira said before she added, "Stay still." She approached the assassin and removed her bloodied blades, her brow furrowing slightly. She expected the darker blood spatter; the target had been an omnic, after all, but there was brighter blood as well. Human blood. "Tracer, I gave you very specific instructions to only kill the target."

Tracer held out her hand, which Moira noticed was closed tightly.

"What do you have?" Moira held her own hand up, and Tracer dropped what she had been holding.

Sitting in Moira's hand was an Overwatch patch, obviously ripped from an official uniform.

"Overwatch," Reaper growled. "Did they try to interfere? How many were there?"

"You know she can't answer that," Moira said, her gaze still on the patch. "But we'll know soon enough. Remove your helmet."

Tracer did so, and Moira took it from her, handing it over to Sombra. "Can you still pull the video from it?"

Sombra reached for a cord, plugging it into Tracer's helmet and typing for a few moments before the picture appeared on the monitor. "All right, let's see what our assassin was up to."

Tracer's brow furrowed as she watched the screen. They were watching the same thing she had seen… they were somehow able to see what she had done.

"Very resourceful," Reaper commented upon watching Tracer's method of extracting Mondatta from the building.

"And there's Overwatch," Moira said upon seeing said agent approach Tracer. "Captain Amari; she still hasn't hung it up, I see."

"Perhaps this experience will change her mind," Reaper added as they watched Tracer attack her.

The video suddenly cut out, and Moira frowned. "That must be when the helmet sustained heavy damage. Unfortunately we can't see who caused it." The redhead turned back to Tracer. "Did you see the second person?"

Tracer shook her head, letting out a low growl and swiping at the blood that was running down from her hairline and into her eye.

"Hold still," Moira said, catching the assassin's face and raising her hand, using her biotic healing to close the wound. "That will stop the bleeding at least."

"If Ana is injured, then Overwatch will be here in force soon enough," Reaper said. "We need to go before that happens, or we'll get caught in a city lockdown for sure."

Moira nodded, already taking mental notes of Tracer's condition and what she had seen on the video. The assassin had followed her orders better than Moira had expected; only Mondatta had been killed. Of course, the attack on Ana Amari could be understood; Reaper had made his distaste of Overwatch quite clear. It was only natural that Tracer would feel the urge to attack upon seeing any marked agents.

Moira was honestly surprised at how relieved she felt. Her hard work was finally paying off. All the doubt and second-guessing she had been receiving, and now she finally had something to show for it.

"So a job well done, wouldn't you say?" Sombra said as Moira sat down, feeling the transport lift off the ground.

"A success today, but we cannot congratulate ourselves now and become complacent. There is still much work left to be done." Moira looked over at Tracer, who was sitting on the floor, her gaze fixed on her hands. "Much work."


	13. Chapter 13

" _Captain Amari is down, we need an emergency evacuation now!"_

"Amélie?"

Angela's voice pulled the sniper back to reality, and her gaze slowly focused on the doctor. "Hmm?"

Angela had been afraid of this; it was only a matter of time before Amélie had some sort of setback. It had been bad enough when Jack accused her of working with Talon, but now with the failed mission and Ana… "What's on your mind?"

As if she didn't know. As if she hadn't noticed the way everyone had looked at the sniper when she'd returned to HQ. Her, Amélie, an agent that hadn't been back on active duty for even a year, walking on her own two feet with nary a scratch while a veteran agent was quickly rushed to the medical wing.

"I hesitated," Amélie said. "I didn't take the shot when I should have, and now Captain Amari…"

"I told you, Captain Amari is still alive. Her surgery went well, and she'll recover."

"But with one less eye."

Yes, Angela couldn't deny that she had been unable to save Ana's eye; there had been very little left of it to even try and save.

"Since we're on the subject… why did you hesitate?" Angela asked, doing her best to keep her tone from sounding judgmental. She didn't believe that Amélie had done anything intentionally malicious, but she was curious, especially considering that no one else had been there to witness the events. They only had Amélie's story until Ana woke up.

Amélie shook her head. It was a question she had been asking herself over and over, with no definitive answer. "I just… something inside of me told me not to…" Amélie closed her eyes, the brunette's enraged face coming to her mind again. "She's a person, and Talon did this to her… made her into that… killer."

Angela paused a moment before she said, "You feel for her because of what happened to you."

"What if that was what Talon wanted to make me into?" Amélie visibly shivered at the thought. "I saw her face… it was only for a brief moment, and yet I can't shake the feeling that I know her…" The sniper looked back at the doctor. "Is it possible we were held prisoner together by Talon? Was I not the only person the kidnapped?"

Angela shook her head. "I don't know; I wasn't part of the rescue team that brought you back, if you recall."

Amélie shook her head. "I do not recall… I hardly remember anything from that first week after I was rescued, honestly."

"You'll have to speak to Jesse or Jack if you want to know more."

Commander Morrison; the person who had accused her of being a Talon agent, the person who had gone through her personal things without her permission. The person responsible for driving her away from Overwatch. Speaking with him would be less than pleasant for both of them, she was sure, and despite her wanting to resign, Amélie knew she couldn't, not yet. Not until she knew Ana was okay, and she had her answers.

"I have to find out," Amélie finally said. "If she is another victim… if she is someone we didn't save… then what she has become is our fault."

* * *

Amélie had just exited the doctor's office when she came face-to-face with Fareeha, who appeared to have been waiting for the session to end. Amélie hadn't spoken to the younger Amari since arriving back at HQ, and she had a feeling that an apology just wasn't enough.

"Fareeha—"

"What happened?" Fareeha asked, her tone wavering slightly in a dangerous way.

Amélie didn't want to get into this, but the younger Amari had her cornered, and the sniper was never one to just back down, especially not to an agent ranked below her. "I am sorry—"

"What are you sorry for? Not taking the shot when you should have? Sympathizing with a Talon agent? Almost getting my mother killed?" Fareeha was obviously angry, and Amélie noticed she was shaking slightly.

"Fareeha—"

"Was it one of your friends, is that why you didn't shoot? I know Commander Morrison went through your personal effects; are you working with Talon, trying to destroy us from the inside?"

"If you honestly still believe that I would be working with Talon after what they did to me—"

"Then what happened, why did you wait? My mother trusted you!"

By this time, Angela had emerged from her office, and she quickly moved between the two, pushing Fareeha back a few steps. "Fareeha, this isn't her fault—"

"No, it is especially her fault!" Fareeha tried to get back at Amélie, but Angela didn't budge. "How can we fully trust her?"

"You can't," Amélie replied, doing her best to keep her tone indifferent. She was tired of protesting her innocence over and over again; she couldn't force them to trust her, so why waste her time? Why not admit the truth that haunted her, that maybe Talon had done something to her that would make her turn against Overwatch intentionally or otherwise?

No, no this would undo everything she and Amélie had been working on. "Amélie, we talked about this—" Angela started.

" _Oui_ , but we never came to a conclusion; we don't know what Talon was after when they took me." That lingering fear still hung heavy over Amélie's head, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it or tell herself otherwise. "Fareeha, I am sorry for what happened with Ana, but your mother took that risk when she chose to approach an assassin whom we saw murder Mondatta not five minutes earlier."

"Are you saying it's her fault?!" Fareeha tried to get at Amélie again, with Angela struggling to hold her back. "You were supposed to cover her!"

"I did my job; your mother is still alive, is she not?"

Fareeha finally broke free from Angela and lunged for the sniper, throwing a punch. Amélie quickly ducked, and the younger Amari's fist hit the wall quite solidly.

"Okay that's enough!" Angela moved in front of Amélie, facing her partner. "Fareeha, what happened to Ana was unfortunate, yes, but fighting Amélie now will not change anything. Your mother is alive, and she will recover."

"How can you defend her?" Fareeha asked angrily, looking like she still wanted another shot at the French woman. "You sit down with her time after time and talk about her 'feelings', but is it changing anything? She said it herself, we don't know what the hell Talon did to her—"

"Amélie is not a threat," Angela said firmly. "I have sat with her many times, just as you have pointed out, and not once have I felt as though my life was in danger. It is true that we do not know what happened to her while she was Talon's prisoner, but I do know that a month is simply not enough to alter someone's brain enough to make them turn against their team."

"You know that for a fact, do you?" Fareeha growled, though she almost sounded as though her anger level was starting to go back down.

"I have some experience with medicine, and what the human body can tolerate," Angela replied almost coldly. "I understand you're upset, but your mother is alive and she will recover. Fighting Amélie will do no good, and trust me when I say that if Amélie hadn't intervened when she did, your mother's fate when have been much worse. I have seen this assassin's handiwork firsthand, and it is terrifyingly violent."

Fareeha shook her head and crossed her arms, not appearing altogether appeased. "I'm not going to thank her, if that's what you're expecting," the younger Amari finally said. "My mother may be alive, but she could have been killed, and if Amélie had acted sooner, this wouldn't have happened at all."

"And for all we know, that 'assassin' could be an unwilling pawn made by Talon, someone they kidnapped just as they did to me!" Amélie finally shot back. "You didn't see her face, she isn't just some machine; she's a person, and they did that to her."

"She's an assassin—"

"But maybe not by choice." Amélie was tired of this conversation, and tired of defending herself. "And if I am correct and she can be saved, then not killing her would be the better choice."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then she kills me and you have the satisfaction of being right."

* * *

"Ah, welcome back! I see your mission in King's Row was a success; very nice work, I must say."

Behind his mask, Reaper's gaze narrowed. "I see you've made yourself at home, Vialli."

The Italian shifted from where he'd been sitting with his feet propped up on the coffee table, setting down the glass he'd been drinking from. "As much as I can I suppose; this is a step down from the facility in Italy." Vialli's gaze fell on Tracer, and his smile widened. "And here's our little assassin; congratulations on a job well done."

Tracer glanced up at Moira, who didn't look pleased at all to see the Italian. His voice sounded familiar, and it took Tracer a few moments to remember that he was one of the people who had spoken at the Talon council meeting.

"Why are you here?" Reaper asked.

"Well, after some discussion, the Council thought fit to send me here to ensure that everything is going smoothly with our assassin, especially considering her recent success," Vialli replied.

"You?" Moira didn't even attempt to hide the derision in her voice. "And why are you so important to be judging my work?"

Vialli put his hands up in defense. "Now, you know I am not a man of science, but I do care about the future of Talon and where it is headed. A lot of money has been put into your project, and we are only just now getting results. I'm just here to make sure we continue getting a return on our investment."

"And how will you be doing that?"

"Through me."

Moira's scowl immediately deepened at the voice, and she clasped her hands behind her back tightly. "Arsenic." Calling this woman a doctor would be too much of a kindness; Moira didn't pretend to hold herself to the ethical and moral standards that her once wife claimed to, but the science that Arsenic practiced… The redhead was conflicted on how to feel in all honesty because Arsenic's successes could not be denied, regardless of her methods.

"O'Deorain." Arsenic approached the geneticist and Tracer, looking the assassin over. "This is your pet project then?" She took hold of Tracer's face, turning it from side and side as she examined the brunette. "Hmm, not entirely impressive at first glance."

Moira had to suppress the urge to pull Tracer away. "Her appearance has no correlation to her effectiveness as an assassin."

"We will see." Arsenic released the assassin before delivering a slap to her face. Tracer let out a surprised noise, followed by a low growl. "She is well trained at least; she does not attack even when provoked, but that may be affected by your presence. I will have to test this hypothesis later—"

"If you wish to keep your fingers, I would refrain from repeating that," Moira said, putting an arm down in between Arsenic and Tracer. It might have had the appearance of keeping Tracer back, and Moira told herself that that was all it was (and not some veiled attempt at protecting Tracer from Arsenic).

Arsenic didn't reply to the geneticist, instead keeping her scrutinizing gaze on Tracer. "I would like to have some time with the assassin now; I need to take notes, run tests, assess her current state of mind—"

"I have notes on all such things, and Tracer needs time to recover from her most recent mission," Moira said.

"I prefer to take my own notes, from my own observations. And why does an assassin need to recover?"

"She has undertaken two intensive missions in a short span of time; if she does not have time to calm down from such, then we risk having another Venice incident on our hands," Moira replied.

Arsenic paused for a moment before she said, "I will still be examining your assassin." She gestured to Tracer before she added, "You, assassin, come with me."

Tracer didn't know this woman, nor did she think she liked her. Her voice was cold, too cold; even on her worst days, Moira at least showed some kind of emotion. This woman… she was like stone.

"Has she not learned obedience? I thought you said she follows orders," Arsenic said.

"She obeys me—"

"Then tell her to come with me."

Moira crossed her arms. "I have already told you—"

"Listen O'Deorain, allow me to explain to you how things will work for the time being: I am here to evaluate and assess the effectiveness of your assassin. Until I have come to a conclusion, I will be remaining here, and I will have just as much authority over this project as you. So when I say that I need to examine this project, your response should be 'Allow me to show you to the lab'."

Moira had to fight exceedingly hard to hold back both her scathing reply as well as her urge to let Tracer loose. To be spoken to in such a way by an inferior, and in front of everyone to boot… it was almost more than Moira (and her pride) could handle. "Fine, I shall show you to my lab, but I will not be given orders by someone who isn't even important enough to be part of the Council." The geneticist began to walk through the facility, Tracer following close behind. Her long stride certainly gave her an advantage, and the brunette had to hurry a bit to keep up with the redhead.

Whatever Arsenic had to do to keep up, Moira didn't care.

The three reached Moira's lab relatively soon, and upon turning on the lights, Moira had to keep from striking Arsenic. "It would appear you have already located my lab," the redhead managed to growl.

Arsenic had indeed already begun to set up, and just the sight of foreign materials around the lab unsettled Moira something fierce. Aside from having the audacity to just begin moving in, Arsenic had asked to be taken to the lab, as if she had no idea where it was.

Arsenic didn't respond to that, but the implications were clear: she wanted to show Moira that she had no control here, even in her own environment. "You, assassin, sit down."

Tracer's gaze fell on the restraints on the chair, and the memory of having needles inserted into her arms, followed by so much pain came flooding back. The brunette took a step back, letting out a warning noise.

"What is the problem now?" Arsenic asked.

"She associates that chair with pain—"

"Then find a way to get her in it if she refuses to do herself."

Moira set her jaw before she turned to Tracer. "Sit down."

Tracer looked between Moira and the chair before she slowly approached, sitting down and keeping her hands firmly in her lap.

"You can go," Arsenic said, giving Moira a dismissive wave.

That was too far. "I will remain here; you cannot control Tracer if something goes awry."

"Then I will restrain her." Arsenic seized Tracer's arm, and the assassin let out a noise of protest, attempting to pull away.

"She doesn't need to be restrained; she will obey if I am here," Moira said.

Arsenic glanced at the geneticist before she released the assassin and said, "Fine. Stay for this examination; this is only the preliminary anyway. Next time I can compare how she behaves without your supervision."

Moira sincerely hoped there would be no next time.


	14. Chapter 14

If Commander Morrison asked her the same question one more time, Amélie was going to scream.

"I have already told you multiple times what happened; I cannot tell you anything more than I already have," Amélie said slowly, doing her best to keep from yelling (which was becoming increasingly difficult).

"And I still do not understand." Jack let out a sigh, rubbing his face.

"Do you think I am hiding something from you? Perhaps you would like to check my phone and other devices for Talon interference," Amélie added.

Jack knew he deserved that; after what he had done to Amélie earlier, things were tense between them, especially considering the fact that he had been wrong about the French woman.

"What you are telling me is that Ana, an experienced agent, voluntarily approached a known threat, after witnessing an assassination moments earlier."

"Yes, that is what happened."

Jack still had trouble wrapping his brain around that. "Did she tell you why?"

Amélie set her jaw, fighting the urge to lose her temper. "I already told you; she gave me the order to take up a higher position and cover her if needed. She did not offer any explanation as to why she felt the need to approach the assassin."

"And after you fired your shot?"

"I only saw half of her face, and it was only for a split second." Despite that brief time period, the image of that woman's face was burned into Amélie's mind. She couldn't shake the feeling that she knew the person in the assassin's suit. "Commander… when you rescued me from the Talon facility… was there anyone else there?

Jack's brow furrowed; sometimes he forgot that Amélie couldn't remember her time at the Talon facility, or her rescue by Overwatch. "You were the only one we found; why?"

Amélie paused, debating over whether or not she should tell him about her feeling. After all, he was the one who had accused her of being part of Talon; if she told him about this, there was a chance that could revive his earlier suspicions. Still, her desire to know outweighed her fear of being accused again. She was planning on leaving Overwatch anyway; why should she care what he thought anymore?

"The assassin… when I saw her face, I had this odd feeling that I recognized her. I can't shake it now… this feeling that I know her, that I've seen her someone before." Amélie's golden eyes looked right into Jack's. "I suspect we were held captive together, and if that is the case, then Overwatch is responsible for creating that assassin."

It was a harsh accusation to make, and if Amélie hadn't already decided to leave Overwatch, she was sure she would be in serious danger of losing her agent status.

"We are not responsible for what Talon has done—"

"If she was there when I was rescued and Overwatch ignored her, then it is our fault."

"You were our primary concern—"

"So you admit you would have left her behind?"

"I didn't say that." The French woman was really pushing his buttons, and Jack had to take a moment to regain his composure. "If anyone else had been there, we would have rescued them if we could, but as I said before, we were there for you. The mission was to get you out; we didn't plan for anyone else."

Amélie crossed her arms, not entirely content with his answer. It didn't confirm or deny her theory that someone else had been held prisoner by Talon. "How did you even figure out where I was being held?"

Jack was silent for a few moments before he replied, "When the evidence from your abduction site led us nowhere, we had to rely on bribes and subterfuge. Gerard chased down and followed anything resembling a lead; he refused to give up. He was sure we would find you alive… and he was right."

Yes, that sounded like Gerard, that adamant refusal to accept defeat. Amélie looked down at her blue-tinged fingers, the image of that woman's face flashing through her mind again. What had Talon had planned for her? If they had gotten their way, what sort of weapon would she have been made into?

"You blame me for Gerard's death, don't you?" Amélie said, her voice going softer.

A pause, and then in an equally soft voice, "No. I blame myself."

The sniper looked up at that, noticing the sad look in Jack's eyes. She had been carrying the guilt on her own for so long that she had expected confirmation, but now with Jack admitting that he blamed himself… "Why?"

Jack crossed his arms with a sigh. "Gerard suspected that you were taken as a way for Talon to hold leverage over us, specifically him. He seemed to think that whatever he was working on had drawn their attention. After we got you back… I grew careless. I thought we were safe… that you two would be safe. I should have been more careful, I should have known that Talon wouldn't give up so easily." Jack rubbed his face; this was something he kept to himself and didn't enjoy admitting out loud. The only person he'd ever admitted it to was Ana, but he figured that Amélie deserved this at least. "When you called us after it happened… I admit, for a brief moment, I didn't recognize your voice and I thought you both had been killed."

"Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better that way…"

"No."

Jack's voice was so stern and firm that Amélie was almost taken aback.

"What happened to Gerard is… terrible, and if I could change it, I would without a second thought, but losing both of you… it would have been too much. I know things have been… rocky, especially between us, but please believe me when I say that I am glad you survived."

Amélie let out a short laugh. "You thought I was helping Talon just earlier this week."

"One of my best friends betrayed me for Talon, and Angela's wife followed suit. As much as I wanted to trust you, Talon has made us look like fools before. I didn't want that to happen again."

Amélie supposed she could understand that, but it didn't sting any less, nor did it change her decision. The sniper got to her feet before she said, "I can understand your logic, but my mind is still made up. I will remain an Overwatch agent just long enough to ensure that Ana is all right, and then I will turn in my resignation."

Jack interlaced his fingers, but he knew there was no changing Amélie's mind. "And do you intend to try and figure out who this other prisoner may be?"

"Yes; I have to know the truth, though I don't think Overwatch will be much help in that regard. If I must do it on my own, then so be it."

Jack sighed again, but nodded. "Dismissed."

* * *

"You, assassin, get up."

Tracer let out an annoyed noise at being rudely shaken awake, and she sat up with a yawn, her gaze falling on Arsenic.

"Follow," Arsenic continued.

Tracer looked around the room, though she didn't see any sign of Moira. Her brow furrowed as she considered what to do. Moira obviously didn't like Arsenic, and Tracer couldn't say that she much cared for Arsenic either.

"Must you wait for O'Deorain to tell you to do everything?" Arsenic said, her tone annoyed. "You must learn to obey any member of Talon. Now follow."

The brunette reluctantly got to her feet and followed the scientist into the lab. Her gaze fell on the chair with the restraints, and the same fear from before came rising up.

"Sit down," Arsenic said.

Tracer let out a noise of hesitation; nothing good ever came from her sitting in that chair, though last time they had forgone the restraints.

"Sit," Arsenic repeated, firmer this time.

After a pause, the assassin did so, sitting on the edge of the chair and wanting nothing more than to leave.

"Now that it is just the two of us, we can actually begin proper assessment and experimentation," Arsenic said before she pushed Tracer against the chair back roughly. Before the brunette could recover, Arsenic secured the restraints around her wrists, keeping her in place. The assassin let out a low growl of distress, tugging at the restraints.

"O'Deorain and the others have been coddling you; they are treating you like a child instead of the weapon that you are," Arsenic said, going over to one of the metal cases she had brought and opening it, pulling out a metal collar. The scientist approached the assassin again, looking down at her. "You do know that, don't you? You do know that you are a weapon, created only to follow orders and kill." Arsenic secured the collar around Tracer's neck before she moved away again, wheeling a screen in front of the assassin's chair and slipping a small remote with a single button into Tracer's hand.

"Here's how this is going to work," Arsenic started, moving away from the chair. "An image will appear on the screen, and if you decide that you would kill it, you will press the button. Understand?"

Tracer looked down at the button in her hand; she wasn't entirely sure what exactly Arsenic wanted from her or what this was supposed to do, but she nodded anyway.

"Look at the screen."

Tracer looked up as the first image appeared on the screen. She recognized it as a training bot, which she had killed plenty of times before. The assassin pressed the button, which Arsenic apparently liked because she switched to the next image.

This one was a rabbit. Tracer could recall that she had been tested with a rabbit early on, and she pressed the button again.

Next image, this one of an omnic. This time Tracer hesitated, her thumb hovering over the button. She had killed omnics before, but only specific targets. The brunette opted not the press the button this time, and it apparently took Arsenic a few moments to notice.

A surge of pain, which seemed to originate from the collar around her neck, suddenly coursed through Tracer's body, and she let out a growl, jerking against her restraints.

The image on the screen changed, this time to a picture of a human. Tracer's thumb once again hovered over the button; she didn't know this person, she had never seen their picture. Moira had taught her that she was only supposed to kill her targets—

Another shock jerked her back to the present, and Tracer let out a yell, tugging harshly against the restraints as she tried to get at the collar.

The process went much the same several more images, with Tracer pushing the button only one or two more times.

"Four out of ten," Arsenic said once the screen was off and she approached the assassin. "Disappointing to say the least. They really have been gentle on you, haven't they?" The scientist shook her head, and it was then that Tracer noticed the large syringe in her hand. "Well, it would appear I have arrived just in time. I will make up for where O'Deorain has been lacking."

Tracer began struggling against the restraints, but they held her firm, and soon enough, the needle was entering her neck. The assassin let out a yell as the mystery liquid was injected into her body, followed by a sort of fiery pain ripping through her veins. For a brief moment, her brain went foggy, and her senses left her. The brunette struggled to regain control and focus through the pain, soon feeling Arsenic remove the needle.

"Now, again," Arsenic said, turning the screen back on.

* * *

Moira's brow furrowed upon returning to her room and finding it empty. She had left Tracer asleep, and the brunette generally knew better than to wander off. The redhead set the assassin's tray of food on the nearby desk before she picked up her tablet, touching the button to contact Sombra.

" _Que pasa Doctor Pelirrojo?"_

"Is Tracer with you?"

" _That's a negative Doctor."_

Moira didn't like that. "Have you seen her at least?"

" _You didn't lose her, did you?"_

"I have not lost anything; she has simply wandered off for whatever reason."

" _Sounds like you lost her_."

Moira let out a low growl through her teeth. "If you're not going to help me find her—"

"If I didn't know you any better O'Deorain, I'd say you almost sound concerned."

Moira turned at Arsenic's voice, quickly closing the communication channel with Sombra. "Considering the fact that Tracer is rather dangerous, I believe it would be in all of our best interests to make sure she's accounted for."

"Of course." Arsenic removed the gloves she was wearing as if they were contaminated with something far beneath her before she tossed them into the nearby trashcan. "Your assassin is poorly trained, by the way. I must say that I'm rather disappointed with her performance today."

Moira did her best to keep her face neutral, though she had a feeling she was wearing an expression of the homicidal variety. "You took Tracer into the lab?"

"I told you why I am here, and as I have said before, I have just as much authority as you do. I wanted to assess the assassin for myself; disappointing, as stated before, but I can fix that soon enough."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Moira had never really been inclined to seize people by their shirts; she much preferred using her 6'5" frame to lord over them, but Arsenic was not intimated by such, and her current behavior was making a shirt seizing rather desirable.

"She is my experiment; I have put months into her development, and I will not have you come in here and foul everything up—"

"Based on what I have seen, there isn't much to 'foul up'."

Moira knew it would be a waste of time to try and explain her methods to Arsenic, and she didn't have the patience to do so either. "Where is she?"

"The assassin is in the lab."

The geneticist left Arsenic behind as she strode from the room, making her way into her lab. Her gaze fell on Tracer, who was still sitting in the chair, her gaze on the floor.

"Tracer?"

The brunette didn't respond, and Moira approached slowly, noticing that the assassin was trembling.

"Tracer." Moira gently placed a hand on Tracer's arm, and the assassin jerked at the touch. Her head turned towards Moira's figure, but the redhead could see that her eyes were not focused. The geneticist feared what damage Arsenic had done, though she knew Tracer wouldn't be able to tell her anything.

"Come, you need to eat," Moira said, straightening up and taking a step back. She wasn't sure how well the brunette would respond, and she could feel her temper towards Arsenic flaring again.

Tracer knew that Moira was talking to her, but she was finding it hard to focus through the static in her mind. Whatever Arsenic had done after injecting her with that mystery liquid was something Tracer couldn't recall, and it seemed a struggle just to remember how to breathe.

"Tracer."

The brunette looked up at her name, though she felt as though she were looking more through Moira than at her. After a few moments longer, she slowly got to her feet, though her legs felt detached from her body and it took her a few moments to recall how her limbs worked.

Moira watched as Tracer slowly made her way over to where the geneticist stood, and once the brunette was close enough, the redhead gently placed a hand on top of her head. She didn't say the words, of course, but she hoped it was enough for Tracer to understand that it was some sort of silent apology.

"Come; your dinner is waiting," Moira said, removing her hand and turning towards the door.

"… Help."

Moira froze at the voice, whipping back towards Tracer. She had forced herself to speak again… despite what had happened last time, she still forced her voice to work. While Arsenic was here, doing God knows what to Tracer.

 _Someone certainly has a twisted sense of humor._

"I would advise you help yourself and keep the fact that you regained your voice a secret," Moira said, her voice a bit harsher than intended. Fear was something she refused to admit, even to herself, so merely added, "Now, do as I say and come with me."


	15. Chapter 15

"Jump, jump you Italian plumbing _bastardo_!" That comment was followed by a string of words that could very well be cursing, but Tracer was not familiar with the Spanish language. The brunette was currently seated on the floor of Sombra's room, watching the hacker play some sort of video game. She wasn't entirely sure what was going on, or what the point of the game was (it seemed to involve a lot of jumping), but it was entertaining anyway.

"What are you doing?" Moira asked as she entered the room, taking in the scene in front of her. She crossed her arms and shook her head before she said, "Really, Sombra, the chocolate was one thing, but now exposing her to video games? And while Arsenic is here?"

Sombra let out a derisible snort, her eyes not leaving the screen. "I have never seen you so scared of someone."

Moira took a step forward, yanking the controller from Sombra's hands.

"How am I supposed to save the princess now—"

"I am not scared of Arsenic," Moira said, her voice firm.

Sombra let out a laugh. "That sounds fake, but okay."

"You are confusing fear with being smart."

"Oh, am I, Doctor?" Sombra shook her head. "You are the one who made Tracer; you have been training with her, you're the one who's molded her into what she is. And now, you're letting some random stranger come in and giving her the same power over Tracer."

"What would you have me do?" Moira growled, not appreciating being called out this way. "She has been sent here by Talon—"

"You could just tell her no."

"And risk having her run back to the Council with some sob story? They would take Tracer from me, and you and I both know what would happen to her then."

The two glanced at Tracer, who was tapping the screen, possibly in an attempt to make the character continue moving.

"So this is about keeping her safe?" Sombra grinned in a shit-eating variety. "Never thought I would see the day where you'd sacrifice your pride for someone else."

"Watch yourself, you little gremlin; I have no qualms with sacrificing your safety," the geneticist growled.

Sombra put her hands up in defense. "All right, calm down; if Arsenic comes around here, I just switch the screens." Sombra demonstrated such with impressive fluidity, and Tracer jumped back as the screen suddenly changed to one with very complicated looking computer coding. "She doesn't come around this way anyway; never fear, Doctor."

"She will if she can't find Tracer." Moira took a step back, crossing her arms. Arsenic had taken the assassin away three times now for her "improvement sessions", and each time, Tracer acted much like a zombie for a few hours afterwards. So far, Moira couldn't see any obvious permanent changes in Tracer's attitude, and she honestly didn't know if that was good or bad.

"What do you think she's doing to her?" Sombra asked.

"I don't know, but so far, it hasn't seemed to have an effect on her." Moira let out a sigh. "With any luck, Arsenic will grow tired with repeated failure, and will leave."

"We can hope. Now, my controller, unless you plan on trying to beat my high score?"

Moira gave the hacker a look, but handed the controller back to her. "Just be careful; I cannot be responsible for two children." The redhead gave Tracer a pat on the head on her way out, and Tracer let out a yawp, watching her go.

"Well, now that that interruption is gone, we can continue," Sombra said. There was a sudden beeping noise, and Sombra paused the game before she pulled up her purple screens, finding an anonymous message waiting for her.

 _Have you found a nice cocker spaniel yet? If not, you should consider looking one up._

A grin spread across the hacker's face before she began to type, tracking down the origin of the message. "Bouncing it off multiple servers? Give me a real challenge, _querida_." Sombra let out a triumphant laugh upon finding the location, and she closed her screens, getting to her feet. "Sorry my little assassin, but I have to go."

* * *

"So… explain to me what you're trying to accomplish with these sessions?"

Arsenic paused, glancing over at Tracer, who was currently restrained in the chair, the screen in front of her again. "I am teaching the assassin how to actually be an effective weapon. Everyone has been coddling her so far; they even treat her as a real person."

Vialli paused before he asked, "You know I would not questions your methods—"

"Then don't."

"But isn't it dangerous to be training her to think of everyone as a target? What if she decides that we are targets?"

Arsenic smiled slightly, but that quickly disappeared. "That is the beauty of the serum I have been using. Without it, Tracer acts the way O'Deorain has intended; she kills the targets she has been assigned. However, once the serum is injected, that control is lost and she kills anyone and anything she encounters. That is what I am training her brain for, to react to that serum."

"And you're sure about that?"

Arsenic gave him a look that implied he was too stupid to be breathing before she looked back at Tracer. "If any effects carry over, then all the better. This is a weapon, not a person. She will follow orders, and if she cannot, then the serum will make her do so."

* * *

Satya wasn't entirely difficult to find. Even with the jacket she was wearing, her sharp profile cut a stark silhouette. It took Sombra a few minutes to gather herself as she approached, trying to remember that this was business first. Sombra's expression changed to one of slight confusion upon seeing the dog sitting at Satya's feet. "You actually have one?"

Satya looked up at the hacker's voice, closing the book she had been reading. "I told you they were good companions, did I not?"

"Well yes, but I thought you were just teasing me."

Satya let out an amused noise. "You certainly think highly of yourself."

Four sentences and Satya was already making her feel small. Sombra shook it off before she sat beside the architect, watching a couple skate by. "Interesting choice of meeting place."

"I like the tranquility."

"And you had to go to another country for that?"

Satya gave her a look. "Yes."

A single word, but it implied that Sombra knew exactly why they needed to meet in another country.

"So, I take it you wish to cash in on my end of our deal?" Sombra said.

Satya nodded. "Do you know why I agreed to help your organization?"

"I must admit, I am curious. It didn't take very much convincing; you didn't even seem surprised when I mentioned the corruption in your organization."

Satya gave her a hard look. "You honestly believe I don't know what is going on behind the Vishkar's closed doors? The only reason I agreed to your deal is because if their corruption were revealed outright, the entire organization would collapse with them. They believe that protects them." Satya crossed her arms, annoyance crossing her features. "I believe the Vishkar can still do good, and we can return to our original mission." She looked back at Sombra before she said, "You understand?"

Sombra let out an amused noise. "I understand that you're asking for a tall order, my friend. You want to take down the major players without making your company seem like a heartless slimeball. That is going to take some serious planning and skill."

"Funny, I was under the impression I was talking with one of the best hackers in the world. You know, the one whom everyone believes is an organization because no one can wrap their minds around the fact that 'Sombra' is a single person, causing all this mayhem."

Sombra grinned at that. "Ay, you're appealing to my vanity, _querida_. Fine, you've convinced me."

* * *

"Ana asked about you."

"How kind of her, though I believe she should focus more on recovering first before she begins lecturing me."

Angela frowned slightly. "I do not believe a lecture is what she was concerned with."

Amélie let out a short laugh. "Then you do not know Captain Amari very well."

"You should go see her."

That had been on Amélie's mind for the past few days, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to actually do it. Having to see the Captain like that… sitting in a hospital bed instead of on her feet… and knowing that it was her own fault. If she had taken the shot earlier, she could have saved both Ana and whoever that young woman was.

"I do not believe she wishes to see me," Amélie finally said.

"Well, that is not up to you to decide, and she has made it clear that she does wish to see you. She wants to make sure you're all right."

"I wasn't the one attacked—"

"Amélie."

The sniper let out a sigh, rubbing her eyes.

"Why are you avoiding her?" Angela continued.

"Because I can't face her," the sniper found herself admitting. "First Gerard, and now Captain Amari… people keep getting hurt around me."

"Amélie… you know neither of those incidents are your fault, don't you?"

"If I hadn't left for the grocery store that day, Gerard might still be alive—"

"Might, or you might have been killed along with him. There was no way you could have known what was going to happen."

"But I knew what was going to happen with the assassin." Amélie got to her feet, not entirely wishing to discuss this further. "Don't try to convince me that there was no way I could have prevented this because we both know that's not true. I will talk to Ana if she asks to see me, but otherwise, I wish to keep to myself. I will be leaving Overwatch soon anyway—"

"Are you sure that is the best course of action?"

Amélie knew she should have expected some sort of resistance from the doctor. "I need to move on—"

"Are you moving on, or just running away?"

Amélie's golden eyes narrowed at that. "I am a sniper; I do not run. People run from me."

* * *

"Are you going to tell us where you've been for the past few days?" Moira asked as Sombra walked past her lab. It was one of those rare moments where Arsenic had stepped out, and planned to get as much work done as she could without the other scientist watching her.

"Hadn't planned on it," the hacker replied. "It was just a business meeting."

Moira's eyes narrowed slightly. "I used to have business meetings too, back when I was married. What's her name?"

Sombra grinned slightly into her coffee, but that quickly vanished as she entered Moira's lab, pulling up one of her screens. "Want to see what I found on the way home?"

"Not particularly, but I am sure you will show me anyway," Moira grumbled.

"You know me so well." Sombra typed a bit before she pulled up a video. "It seems our little killer used to be semi-famous." Sombra pressed the play button under the video, and Moira scowled slightly as she leaned in. Sure enough, there was the brunette, except in this video she was sporting a very blonde fauxhawk as she played the keyboard in front of her.

"Not a bad set of pipes on her," Sombra added as she lightly bobbed along to the song. "Too bad you had to take that away from her."

Moira rolled her eyes, comment prepared, but a strange sound caught her attention. "What is that?"

"What?"

Moira hit the mute button, realizing that the noise was humming. She looked over to see Tracer sitting on a stool, her head moving ever so slightly as she continued humming, apparently unaware that the music had stopped.

"She remembers—" Sombra started.

"Turn that off now," Moira growled before she quickly approached Tracer, flicking her ear harshly.

Tracer let out a slightly pained yawp, rubbing the spot and looking up at Moira. She was used to pain from her suit, and Moira's biotic grasp, but actually having Moira inflict pain with her bare hands was unusual.

"Do not do that again, do you understand?" the redhead said. She didn't want to add that if these triggers continued, she would need to subject the assassin to another round of reconditioning. Regaining her ability to speak was one thing, but actually regaining her memories simply could not be allowed.

Tracer nodded; she hadn't even been fully aware she'd been making noise until Moira called attention to it. She couldn't explain why she had even started… hearing that music had stirred something deep within the recesses of her mind, and she honestly hadn't even been aware that she could make those noises.

"Good, you're already here."

The three looked up at Arsenic's voice, and Tracer gripped the stool tightly.

"You two can go," Arsenic said dismissively as she entered. "The assassin and I have another session."

Tracer let out a warning noise, and Moira looked between her, Sombra, and Arsenic. The geneticist found herself caught in a difficult situation. On the one hand, she was sick and tired of Arsenic giving her orders like she had some superior authority here. She had told Sombra that she wasn't afraid of the other scientist, and now was her chance to prove it. On the other hand, it was as she had said before; if she fought Arsenic, the other scientist would find some way to have Tracer taken from her.

It was, in the simplest terms, a shit situation.

"You, assassin, get in the chair," Arsenic continued, as if Sombra and Moira had already left.

"You already put her through what I assume was an intensive session yesterday, based on the amount of time she was gone," Moira said.

"Your point?"

"If you continue these type of sessions, the lingering effects could be detrimental; Tracer needs time to recover, or she becomes overwhelmed."

"Why do I care for an assassin's feelings?"

Moira set her jaw before she said, "I am not talking about feelings or emotions; I am talking about becoming overwhelmed with pain. Are you not aware how her suit works, how it allows her to function? Your meddling has already caused who knows how many problems."

Arsenic finally turned to look at the redhead, her expression neutral. "I refuse to coddle the assassin as you all have been doing. If you cannot be objective, then perhaps it will be best for me to take over this project."

"Tracer is mine, and no one will be taking over!" It came out far louder and with more emotion than Moira would have liked, but it apparently got her point across because after a pause, Arsenic put her hands up in apparent surrender.

"Fine. Have it your way, O'Deorain."

* * *

"Are you sure about this?"

Arsenic nodded. "O'Deorain has become too attached to this project. She needs to be reminded just what she has been tasked with creating."

"Well, yes, but—"

"You have a vision for Talon, and I have one as well. I have helped you towards reaching your goal, now you will do the same for me." Arsenic looked ay Vialli before she added, "Call the meeting, and keep them distracted."

* * *

Tracer wasn't entirely sure where the others had gone, or why. All she knew was that Moira had told her to remain put while they were gone, which was what she intended on doing. She had just settled on the couch when the door opened, and Arsenic came striding towards her. Before she could react, the scientist seized the back of her suit collar, yanking her to her feet and beginning to drag her out of the room. Tracer let out noises of protest, but they fell on deaf ears as she was dragged into the lab and pushed harshly into the chair with the restraints.

"You have been assigned to another mission," Arsenic said as she secured the restraints around Tracer's wrists.

This wasn't usually how mission assignments went, and Tracer had a feeling that something wasn't right.

"Once you exit the transport, look for this house," Arsenic said, holding up a picture of an unassuming house. "There are three people inside," she continued, switching to the next picture. "They all need to die."

Tracer quickly averted her gaze, struggling against the restraints and refusing to look at Arsenic or the picture she was holding up.

"You will go to this house and kill all three of them," Arsenic repeated.

Tracer shook her head, continuing to struggle and keeping her gaze on the floor. If she didn't look at the picture, then Arsenic couldn't make her kill anyone.

Arsenic caught the assassin's face, forcing her to look forward. "Look at the picture. These are your targets; you will go to their house and kill all three of them—"

"No!"

Arsenic paused a moment before she released the brunette. "So you can talk. Either you have regained your speech without anyone else noticing, or O'Deorain has been lying. Knowing her, I would put money on the second one." Arsenic pulled out one of the syringes Tracer had come to hate, and though she knew it was useless, she struggled harder and fought against being injected.

"This will be a good test for you then," Arsenic said as she stuck the needle in Tracer's neck, beginning to inject the serum into her body. "All three of them need to die."

It was the last thing Tracer heard before the fog enveloped her mind.


	16. Chapter 16

"Emily, did you empty the dishwasher?"

"I did that this morning."

Another boom of thunder sounded, and Emily's father looked up from where he'd been reading.

"It's really coming down tonight," he said, looking at his wife. "Should we have secured the rubbish bins?"

"I'm sure they'll be fine."

Emily stood right as the lights flickered and went out, and the redhead let out a sigh. "Really?"

"It's okay, the backup generator will kick in soon enough," her mother said.

Emily sighed and was about to say something else when a light in her peripheral vision caught her eye. She turned towards the glass patio door, her heart starting upon seeing two goldenrod lights through the darkness. "What the hell—"

The glass suddenly shattered, and Emily let out a cry of surprise as she jumped back. There was the sound of the generator kicking in, and the lights came on just in time for her to see a figure in strange armor clinging to the living room wall, two red blades on its arms. It landed on the floor before it straightened up slightly, those two goldenrod lights fixed on Emily's father.

"Bridget, take Emily upstairs! Go!" her dad yelled, grabbing the nearest weapon, which happened to be the fireplace poker. He swung for the figure, and they jumped back before lunging forward, their blade slicing through his chest.

Emily wanted to scream, but she didn't even have the time to inhale before her mother seized her arm, dragging her daughter up the stairs. The two reached the bedroom, and Emily's mother shoved her daughter into the closet.

"Stay here, no matter what you hear," her mother said as she pulled a box off the shelf and opened it, pulling a gun out.

"What's going on, what is that thing?" Emily's voice shook, and she could hear the intruder charging up the stairs, letting out some kind of feral yell. Emily's mother closed the closest door, and the redhead sunk to the floor, her entire frame shaking.

 _What the fuck is going on? What is that thing, what does it want?_

There was the sudden sound of a gunshot, and Emily held her breath, hardly daring to breath. A second gunshot rang out, soon followed by the sickening noise of flesh being cut. Emily heard the telltale whump of a body hitting the floor, and she pressed herself up against the back wall of the closet as if she could somehow go through it. It was silent except for the sound of Emily's quickened breathing, and the redhead's eyes widened as she saw a shadow fall through the small slit in the doors where light was filtering through.

The door was suddenly ripped open, and Emily couldn't hold back her scream. The thing, the assassin, whatever it was, was standing over her, its eyes glowing. Emily caught a glimpse of a pale, bloody hand on the floor behind the assassin, and she let out a choked sob, pressing herself harder against the wall. Her gaze fell back on the figure, which was approaching her. It raised one arm, the red blade catching the light, and Emily closed her eyes.

Whatever this thing was, it meant to kill her, and she could only hope it would be quick.

 _Stop… don't hurt her…_

Tracer hesitated, her blade suspended in midair.

 _I have to…_

 _No… you're stronger than this…_

 _But what if I'm not?_

 _You are; focus past the fog in your head. Try to remember._

… _I can't._

* * *

Moira looked at her watch for what seemed like the umpteenth time, frowning as if the hands had personally wronged her. If Tracer hadn't shown up for her dinner by now, then that most likely meant she had been forced into another "session" with Arsenic. That in turn meant that Moira would have to track the assassin down herself, and she swore under her breath as she stood, starting for the door.

Upon opening it, she was met with the sight of Tracer on the other side.

"There you are; where have you been?" Moira asked, crossing her arms.

Tracer didn't respond, and it was then that the redhead noticed the spots of blood on her armor.

Fresh blood.

Moira's brow furrowed. "Were you sent on a mission? Who authorized this, why wasn't I informed?"

Tracer didn't reply, and Moira could see that her left hand was clenched tightly.

"What do you have now? Hand it over."

Tracer held her hand out obediently, and Moira took the crumpled paper from her.

"Honestly, you're starting to become some sort of packrat, picking up things that catch your eye—" Moira stopped short upon uncrumpling the paper, which was actually a photograph.

Three people were in the photograph, but it was the women that caused her blood to run cold. Red hair, heterochromia, lanky builds.

O'Deorain.

"Tracer, where have you been?" Moira repeated slowly and with intent, if only to keep her voice from shaking. Because that would mean that her fears were realized. That would mean a truth too horrible to face.

The assassin didn't reply, and Moira yanked her helmet off in an almost desperate anger.

Tracer was looking at the floor, unable to meet Moira's gaze. As if part of her knew this awful truth.

As if she knew it would destroy the geneticist.

Moira had created Tracer to eliminate the enemies of Talon, to prove that a person could be reprogrammed.

Now Tracer had been used to destroy her.

Moira dropped the assassin's helmet, trying to keep her breathing under control. There didn't seem to be enough air in the room, and her chest felt tight as she struggled to process just what had happened.

"You… all of them… _A thiarcais_ …"

Tracer knew she had done something horrible. She couldn't entirely remember what had happened; her memory went from being injected by Arsenic to realizing she was in a transport with blood covering her blades and armor. Whatever had happened in between was lost in the fog Arsenic had forced over her mind… she could remember little more than vague shapes and voices that blended together. Her hand had already been closed around the picture when she regained her senses, and she hadn't had the mind to let it go.

Moira ran her hands through her hair, collapsing into the nearest chair as she looked down at the picture. Bridget and Emily… true, she had distanced herself from her family, but there had always been an unspoken agreement amongst Talon that those who were closest were protected. And now, to have her family so brutally taken from her, by the very assassin she had created…

"Why did you do this Tracer?" Moira asked, her voice low and dangerous.

Tracer gestured to her head, as if she could convey the fog she had been in, the way Arsenic had altered her mind.

Moira suddenly rose to her feet, catching the brunette in her biotic grasp. Tracer let out a cry of pain, falling to her knees, but knowing that she deserved it.

Moira kept her biotic grasp on the assassin, her hand shaking slightly. Deep down, she knew it wasn't Tracer's fault; she had made the brunette this way, after all. Look at a photo, kill the person in it; simple and effective. In a way, the redhead knew she was punishing herself, though she didn't let up even as Tracer's arms gave out and she fell onto her forearms.

"Enough, you're going to kill her!"

Moira's biotic grasp suddenly stopped, and it took her a few seconds to realize that Sombra had hacked her device. The redhead let out a low growl as Tracer gasped for air, too weak to push herself up.

Sombra approached the assassin, stooping beside her to make sure she was all right before she straightened and turned on Moira. "You want to explain what the hell that was about? I have never seen you lose control like that before—"

"I was perfectly in control," Moira said, not caring how unconvincing that sounded.

Sombra crossed her arms, giving her a look. "You and I both know that's a lie; you would have killed her."

"She's fine," Moira spat coldly.

"What could she possibly have done to get you so worked up?"

Moira didn't want to say it out loud. She didn't want to admit that she had been beaten at her own game, that her own project had been turned against her. She didn't want to admit that she was the reason three people were dead.

"…Sorry…"

Moira and Sombra turned at that, looking down at Tracer, who was still on the floor. As far as Moira knew, remorse and guilt were emotions she had erased from the assassin long ago. If Tracer was apologizing, then she knew that what she had done was wrong.

Suddenly the redhead had a slew of questions.

Moira knew she had to push her emotions down and let her logical brain take over; that would be the best way to deal with her grief.

"Get out," Moira said to the hacker as she helped Tracer to her feet.

"Why, so you can actually finish the job this time—"

"Don't make me repeat myself."

Despite her misgivings, Sombra seemed to sense the danger in Moira's tone, and for once, she did as the geneticist said, leaving the room.

"Sit," Moira said, gesturing to the couch.

Tracer did so, looking up at the redhead and wondering if Moira was planning to punish her further.

"There's no way you tracked down my family and killed them of your own accord," Moira said, picking up her tablet and approaching the assassin. "Who assigned you to this mission?" The redhead turned the tablet towards the assassin, six pictures on the screen.

It only took Tracer a second to pick Arsenic out, and she pointed to the scientist's picture.

"As I expected." Moira had to keep her voice from shaking in anger. Arsenic had done this to teach her some sort of lesson, she was sure.

Tracer let out a low grunt, gesturing to her neck, scratching at it a bit.

Moira's brow furrowed slightly, and she moved Tracer's hand out of the way, her gaze falling on the recent injection mark. "So she's been pumping something into you, has she?"

"Well, O'Deorain, what do you think of your assassin?"

Moira froze at the voice, and she turned to see Arsenic in the doorway, wearing a rather smug and self-assured expression. It took everything the redhead had not to set Tracer on her right then and there, or lash out at the other scientist herself.

"You sent her after my family," Moira said, her voice low and dangerous; it took most of her willpower to keep it from shaking.

"You treated her like a child; I have raised her to her true potential. She can eliminate any target now, no matter how close they may be to us." Arsenic looked at Tracer, who couldn't meet her gaze. "Good work; you are a true weapon now."

"… Could kill you…"

Both Moira and Arsenic looked surprised at that; it was the closest Tracer had come to actually forming a full sentence, and a threat at that.

"I'm sure you could," Arsenic said. "I would wager you could kill everyone in here, so perhaps we should all beware." Arsenic turned and left, and Moira let out a low growl, her nails digging into her palms.

A few moments of silence passed, and Tracer let out a hesitant yawping noise.

"Go; find Sombra or Reaper, I don't care who, but just leave me."

* * *

It had been a few days since the incident now, and Tracer hadn't seen much of Moira in that time. The geneticist had locked herself in her room, refusing to answer the door when Tracer knocked, which left the assassin to spend her time with Sombra and Reaper.

"She'll come around; she just needs time to grieve," Sombra said. "Not that she'll ever admit she's doing something so human."

Tracer let out a low noise, looking down at her hands.

"Vialli and Arsenic are gone," Reaper said, coming into the room.

"They just left?" Sombra said, her voice laced with irritation as she got to her feet.

"They probably figured it was in their best interest." Even without being able to see his face, it was obvious that Reaper was not pleased.

"You know, it would be rude to not say goodbye," Sombra said after a few moments. She pulled up her screens before she began typing. "I think we should extend one last bit of hospitality."

* * *

Vialli would be lying if he said he wasn't a little annoyed at the fact that Arsenic had just up and left without him.

"Forcing me to drive myself," the Italian muttered as he continued down the darkened, empty road.

Reaper's figure suddenly appeared in the road in front of him, shotguns drawn, and Vialli slammed on the brakes, almost losing control.

"What—"

The window suddenly shattered, and Vialli felt a hand seize his shirt before pulling him through the broken window. The Italian was thrown to the dirt, and he found Tracer standing over him, teeth bared.

"And here I thought our good doctor was the only one who believed in Irish goodbyes," Sombra said. "Tracer."

The assassin took a step back, though her muscles were still tensed, and she looked ready to pounce if need be.

"My friends, I didn't realize you put so much stock in goodbye," Vialli said, getting to his feet and fixing his tie and shirt. "Is that really what all this is about?"

"You know what this is about," Reaper growled. "Where is she?"

"If you mean Arsenic, I don't know. She and I… went our separate ways, apparently."

Sombra and Reaper exchanged a look before the hacker said, "Well, I guess you get all of our attention then."

"Look, it was Arsenic's idea, not mine. Tell O'Deorain that it was nothing personal, just business." Vialli could obviously sense the hostile intentions, and though he tried to remain composed, that was quickly slipping away.

"Nothing personal?" Sombra looked as though she wanted nothing more than to strangle Vialli herself. "You made Tracer kill her entire family!"

"We were only looking out for the well-being of the organization; Talon is a business, and if we operated the way you all did, we would never turn a profit."

Sombra shook her head. "Any one of us could easily kill you; it was just a matter of drawing straws to decide who got that honor."

Reaper seized Vialli by his throat, forcing the Italian to his knees. "I won."

* * *

"Good, you're both here."

Sombra and Tracer looked up at the voice, seeing Moira standing in the doorway of Sombra's room, Tracer's helmet in her hand. The brunette stood up, wondering if she should chance approaching the geneticist.

"I need you to pull the video feed off of this," Moira continued, approaching the hacker and handing her the helmet.

Sombra took the helmet, glancing at the redhead. "Are you sure about this?"

Moira nodded, keeping her expression neutral. "Do it." As much as she didn't want to, she knew she had to watch the footage. She had to know what had happened in the house that night.

Sombra plugged the cord into the helmet, and Moira held her crossed arms tighter to her body as the picture appeared on the screen. She immediately recognized her sister's home, and her stomach clenched tightly upon watching the assassin go through the glass door. Bridget's husband went quickly; he tried to fight Tracer off, but that went as well as one could expect. Once he was dead, Tracer headed up the stairs, soon coming across Bridget. Her sister was pointing a gun at Tracer, and Moira heard it go off. Tracer easily blinked out of the way before she blinked forward, and Moira got a close up view of her Bridget's terrified and desperate expression. She heard the gun go off again before one of Tracer's blades came up, separating her sister's hand from her arm. The next blade went through her, bringing her to the floor, and Tracer straightened up, her gaze focusing on the closet door.

It was then that Moira noticed the lack of overkill. With every other target, Tracer attacked with her blades several times, but with both Bridget and her husband, she had only used one blade for the kill.

Tracer ripped open the closet door, and there was Emily, cowering on the floor. Moira found herself holding her breath, though after a few moments, she realized that Tracer hadn't moved.

 _What are you—_

Slowly, Moira saw the blade come back down, and Tracer took a step back before turning away.

"She didn't kill her," Sombra said, sounding as surprised as Moira felt.

"No…" Moira looked over at Tracer, who was still staring at the screen. "Tracer, you spared Emily?"

The brunette's memory had only been slightly jogged by watching the video feed, and even after watching it, she couldn't entirely remember everything, but the evidence was right there. She had spared the girl; Emily was her name? Tracer wasn't entirely sure how she had managed to gain enough clarity through that fog to stop herself, but she had.

For her own part, Moira was having a hard time believing what she had seen. Tracer had disobeyed an order, and had managed to fight through whatever Arsenic had been pumping into her. Her free will was coming back stronger, and Moira feared what the repercussions would be for such.

"Emily is still alive…" Moira said, trying to fully process this new development. "And if Arsenic finds out—"

"She's already left."

Moira's brow furrowed slightly. "And Vialli?"

"I wouldn't worry about him."

Moira didn't have to ask what that meant, and she unfolded herself from her chair, running a hand through her hair. She had spent the last few days trying to figure out some way to reconcile with all this and how to best move forward, but with this new development…

"Arsenic has returned to the Council by now, no doubt," Moira said, her voice cold. She looked over at Tracer before she lowered her voice so the assassin couldn't hear. "It is only a matter of time now."

"You honestly believe they will try and take Tracer away?"

"Arsenic has all the evidence she needs; Tracer can be made to eliminate any target."

"But she spared your niece—"

"All the more reason she cannot be turned over to Talon." Moira let out a sigh, rubbing her eyes. She was loath to admit defeat, but there was little else to be done. "Whatever Arsenic has done to Tracer has made her wildly unpredictable; even I cannot say for sure that she would carry out a contract I gave to her. Even reconditioning is no longer an option." The choice was obvious, but impossible to make. "There is only one thing to do; we must send her away."

"Send her where? On vacation?"

Moira gave the hacker a look. "We must send her to the only people who can protect her."

Sombra's brow furrowed for a moment before realization dawned. "You can't mean—"

"Yes. Overwatch."

"And how do you propose we pull that off? 'Watch our assassin for us, would you?'"

"That's why we're sending Tracer there on a mission; if she happens to be overpowered and captured, then so be it."


	17. Chapter 17

"I need you to encrypt these files."

"You want to add a please to that?" Sombra said, not looking up from her screens.

Moira seized the back of Sombra's chair, spinning her around. "Listen, I am in no mood for games. We have a very limited window to work within here. Now, encrypt these files, and when you have finished, send them to Dr. Angela Ziegler."

A thin eyebrow arched. "And will the good doctor know the encryption key?"

"She's the only one who will. Now do it." Moira held out a flash drive, which Sombra took after a moment.

"Speaking of encrypted files, I managed to locate some of Arsenic's work," the hacker added.

Moira's eyebrows rose at that; this was certainly unexpected news. "She didn't delete it when she left?"

Sombra let out an amused noise, turning back to her screens. "She thought she did, but she didn't even format the drive."

"Have you read it?"

Sombra shook her head. "It's pretty heavily encrypted; I haven't see a lock like this before. I have a few programs working on it, but there's no telling how long that will take."

* * *

"We have a mission for you, so pay attention."

Tracer looked up as Moira came into the room, and her brow furrowed slightly at the geneticist's hurried demeanor.

"You have no specific target on this mission; we're sending you to an Overwatch base to cripple it," Moira continued.

Something wasn't right; the redhead was never this vague when assigning missions. She usually made sure that Tracer knew all the details before she went out. And what did she mean, cripple the base? Was she not supposed to kill anyone? The assassin let out a slightly curious and almost distressed noise.

Moira had been dreading assigning this mission. She had to be vague on purpose in order to keep Tracer from understanding just what was going to happen, that she wouldn't be coming back this time. For the assassin, who had come to associate Talon with a sort of home, being left behind would upset her, no doubt.

"Listen; if… something goes wrong, look for Angela."

Why was she saying that? What did Moira expect to go wrong? Was she referring to what had happened with her family? Tracer let out another unsettled noise, unsure if this mission was just a disguised punishment.

Moira grabbed the book that held their wedding photo, fumbling with it for a few moments before she managed to get the picture out. She held it so the brunette could see, and Tracer's gaze focused on the photograph.

"Angela, do you understand?" the redhead said, her tone bordering on desperate. "If anyone can keep you safe, or relatively safe I suppose, it's her."

Tracer paused upon seeing the photo, recognizing it as the same photo Moira had dropped during one of their early, shared meals. The assassin easily picked Moira out in the photo, which meant this Angela had to be the blonde. Tracer raised a hand slowly, her fingers brushing over the image.

Photos meant targets, but Moira hadn't called her a target. She had called Angela "safe", a notion that Tracer didn't even understand anymore. What was "safe" supposed to mean? A place without pain? Without Talon?

"When you see her… do not harm her," Moira said, watching Tracer's reaction closely. "Tracer, I mean this, so look at me."

Tracer looked up at the redhead, seeing the intent look in her multicolored eyes.

"Do not harm Angela; she is not a target, and she is not your enemy. Do you understand?"

Tracer nodded.

"Verbal confirmation; I know you can speak."

"… Yes."

* * *

It was silent in the transport as the group made their way to Switzerland, and no one seemed to have any interest in breaking that silence. Sombra was absently poking at her screens, Reaper cleaning his shotguns for what seems like the umpteenth time, and Moira was sitting with her arms crossed, lost in her own thoughts. Tracer had fallen asleep beside her, her head resting against the geneticist's arm.

"What does she think this mission is?"

The other two looked up at Sombra's voice, which didn't sound entirely happy.

"I have given her as little information as possible," Moira replied. "I have merely told her that this is an Overwatch headquarters that needs to be crippled."

"So she could potentially kill them," Reaper said, not sounding entirely heartbroken at the idea.

"Of course the potential is there; we need to make this as authentic as possible. Remember, no one outside of this transport knows the real reason why we are sending Tracer here… Tracer included."

"They'll question her, you know," Reaper said, glancing at the still sleeping Tracer. "She's been inside multiple Talon facilities, she's seen and heard more than a few things."

"Maybe so, but her ability to articulate such is severely hampered. Moreover, she hardly understands what she's seen and heard with us." Moira looked over at the assassin, crossing her arms. "They can question her, but she won't be able to give them what they want."

"Are we planning on coming back for her?" Sombra asked. "You know, after all this has calmed down?"

"We will see," was all Moira replied; she didn't want to admit, even to herself, that she sincerely hoped they could bring Tracer back. She tried to tell herself that it was because of all the time and work she had put into the assassin's development, and not because of something pathetic like attachment.

* * *

"You understand your mission?"

Tracer nodded.

"Good." Moira handed the assassin her helmet, and Tracer put it on, the display soon lighting up. The redhead fought to remain indifferent as she attached the blades to Tracer's armor.

 _This is just another mission; it's for her own good, so stop acting like… well, like this is some sort of sentimental goodbye._

Moira finished with the blades and took a step back, looking at the assassin, her assassin. The one she had spent almost a year working with and developing and had, unfortunately, developed some sort of attachment to. The redhead pulled the control for the pain level on Tracer's suit from her pocket, looking down at it as she began to increase the pain. She just needed enough to rile Tracer up, just enough to get her going so that she wouldn't be pacified so easily.

Tracer let out a low growl as she felt her pain level begin to increase. It had been some time since Moira had used that, and she began to grow restless as it increased.

Once she felt it was high enough, Moira dropped the control to the floor and stomped on it, destroying it.

"Now go."

* * *

Amélie let out a sigh, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes. Her attempts at uncovering the identity of Talon's assassin had proved rather fruitless so far. Commander Morrison had given her the reports and debriefs from her initial abduction and subsequent rescue, though they hadn't been very illuminating thus far. Certainly none of them mentioned anyone else being at the Talon facility, prisoner wise that was.

 _Then why do I feel like I know her? Why can't I shake this feeling?_

"You know, I'm trying very hard not to take your lack of a visit personally."

Amélie started at the voice, her eyes snapping open. The sniper got to her feet, pushing her chair back before she turned to face her mentor. "Should you be up so soon?"

"Ah, so now you are concerned about me?" Ana smiled slightly as she entered the room and approached her charge. What Angela had said seemed to be true, Ana didn't look any worse for wear, except for the eye patch she now sported over her right eye.

"I always had concern," Amélie said, finding it hard to meet Ana's gaze.

"But you didn't visit me."

 _Because I couldn't. Because my guilt wouldn't let me. Because if I saw you laying in that hospital bed, it would have been too much._

"No," was all that came out of Amélie's mouth.

Ana studied the French woman's face before she said, "Did you think I didn't want to see you? Did you think I blamed you for what happened?"

"How could you not?" So much for holding back her guilt. "If I had taken the shot earlier, I could have stopped her—"

"Her?" Ana's brow furrowed. "How do you know the assassin is a her?"

"After she attacked you, I fired at her. The shot destroyed part of her helmet, and I saw her face for a brief moment."

"I see." Ana moved past the sniper, looking down at the reports and files on her desk. "These are the reports from when you were rescued…" The captain turned back to face Amélie. "What have you been up to?"

Amélie supposed there was no sense in keeping the truth from Ana. "When I saw her face, I couldn't help but feel that I knew her from somewhere. I started to suspect that perhaps we were held prisoner by Talon together; I have been trying to determine if that is true, and whether or not Overwatch neglected to rescue her when they rescued me."

"I see." Ana's expression was difficult to read, and Amélie couldn't tell if the captain believed her, or just thought she was losing her mind. "And what would you do if she was a fellow prisoner? Would you speak to her if you had the chance? What would you say?"

Amélie opened her mouth, and then closed it. She hadn't really thought that far ahead; what would she say to this woman if she had the chance? Would she apologize? She hadn't been part of her own rescue effort, but she still felt some sort of responsibility.

The sudden blaring of an alarm, followed by a flashing orange light saved Amélie from having to reply, and her brow furrowed.

"The intruder alarm? Are we under attack?"

"Prepare for such," Ana said as she strode from the room, remarkably spry for someone who had just been discharged from the infirmary.

Amélie quickly grabbed her rifle and went after the captain, old fears rising up and gripping her for a brief moment. Was this Talon? Had they finally decided to come back and finish the job?

"Jack, what's going on?" Ana asked as they ran into the commander at the top of the stairs.

"Someone has managed to infiltrate the base, but we don't know who or how many," Jack replied. He put a hand to his communicator before he said, "Winston, has Athena finished that diagnostic report?"

" _Whoever this is, they came in through an upper floor window; two agents are already down_ ," Winston replied. " _Not sure where they are now_ —"

" _Hey, I'm staring down your intruder right now_ ," McCree interrupted.

"Jesse, where are you?"

The sound of shattering glass caught the group's attention, and they looked up in time to see McCree landing in the middle of the main hall, tumbling backwards. A figure in dark armor soon came leaping after him, and Jack fired off a few shots, causing the figure to jump back.

"Looks like their assassin came back to finish the job," Ana said, her gaze narrowing.

* * *

 _Overwatch must be eliminated._

Tracer had only a vague idea of what her mission really entailed; all Moira had said was that this base needed to be "crippled". She hadn't given her any specific targets, and Tracer honestly couldn't focus on that anyway. Her pain level was making her restless, and she had reached the point where she was willing to do anything to make it stop, or at least distract herself from it.

She had already taken down several agents, and had been about to finish off the man in the cowboy hat when the gunshots drove her back. Before she could blink away, she felt something sink into her neck, and she let out a growl, reaching up to yank it free. It was some sort of vial with a yellow liquid, and the assassin growled as she crushed it in her hand; she was tired of being injected with mystery substances. Tracer blinked away and clung to the wall, her gaze falling on the three agents at the top of the stairs. She recognized one as the woman she had attacked before, the one she had torn the patch away from.

 _This time I won't make any mistakes._

* * *

Amélie's eyes widened when the assassin crushed Ana's sleep dart in her hand; she had never seen anyone resist the captain's sleep dart before.

"If we can't subdue her, then we must resort to other measures," Ana said, her voice cold.

Before Amélie could protest, the assassin let out one of her feral yells, leaping off the wall and blinking towards them. She tackled Ana around the middle, bringing both of them to the floor. They tumbled a few times before the assassin slammed Ana down, pinning her to the floor and raising one of her blades.

 _It's happening, it's happening all over again—_

 _No, not this time._

Amélie raised her rifle and fired, the bullet sinking into the assassin's shoulder. The assassin recoiled at the shot before she whipped around, those lighted eyes falling on Amélie.

It was like watching an odd sort of dance; one moment the assassin was across the room, and the next, she was two inches away, those red blades gleaming.

 _How poetic_ , Amélie thought as she looked into the lighted eyes of Tracer's helmet, wondering if she could see the woman underneath if she looked hard enough, _to be faced with such a terrible beauty right before death._

The assassin suddenly stumbled, and Amélie could see another sleep dart in her neck. She reached up to pull it out, but her staggering footsteps implied that she was starting to feel the effects. The assassin turned to face Ana again, only to receive another sleep dart. She took a few steps forward before she collapsed and remained still.

"Are you all right?" Ana asked, approaching the French woman.

"I'm fine… will she be okay? Normally one of your sleep darts is enough to knock out a full grown man; will three kill her?"

"She gave us no other option," Ana said. "Even when you shot her, she kept coming."

"Let's get her contained before she wakes up," Jack said. "I have questions for this assassin."

"First I want to see her face," Ana said, stooping beside the assassin.

"We should wait until she's properly restrained—"

Jack's warning fell on deaf ears as Ana removed the assassin's helmet, revealing the face of the brunette underneath. "She's just a child…"

Amélie moved to where she could see the brunette's face, and she suddenly felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. Now she knew why this woman had looked so familiar.

" _Mon Dieu_ , Lena…"

"So you do know her," Ana said, looking at the sniper.

Amélie nodded, her heart feeling heavy. "Yes, I know her." She reached down to gently brush a few strands of brown hair from Lena's face. "What have they done to you?"

* * *

Upon coming to, Tracer found herself restrained in a way that felt oddly familiar, and a brief memory of Antonio's estate flashed through her mind. The brunette's pain level was quickly catching up with her, and with no way to distract herself, she began to struggle against the restraints, letting out several feral growls and yells.

She vaguely registered the people moving on the other side of the observation window, and it wasn't until the door to the room opened that she looked up, her gaze falling on the blonde woman who had entered.

" _Angela, do you understand? If anyone can keep you safe, or relatively safe I suppose, it's her."_

The assassin's blades had been removed, but Angela was still wary as she approached. They had removed her helmet as well, and even though she had the face of a young woman, the blonde knew all too well that looks could be deceiving. She was an assassin, after all; she had been trained to kill.

Angela was aware of the fact that the assassin's eyes were tracking her as she moved, though her struggling seemed to have calmed slightly. She knew Moira must have had a hand in this, whatever had been done to this poor girl. The blonde stopped a few paces away from the brunette, eyeing the restraints that held her. She knew Jack and Ana wanted to interrogate the assassin as soon as possible, and it was up to the doctor to determine if that was possible.

"Can you tell me your name?" Angela asked.

 _My name…_

Tracer didn't respond, instead keeping her gaze on the doctor.

"Do you know where you are?"

Still no response.

Angela let out a sigh; she knew she shouldn't expect a Talon agent to be cooperative, but it had been worth a try. "Be silent if you wish, but my colleagues will not be so patient," the blonde said before she turned to start for the door.

She was going to leave. This woman, Moira had called her "safe", had led Tracer to believe that she would help her, and now she was leaving.

"… Angela…"

The doctor froze at that, and she turned back around, looking at the assassin. "So you can speak, and you know my name; how?"

"… Moira…"

Angela's eyes widened at that. This confirmed her suspicions that Moira was involved, but sending her assassin to Overwatch like this… had she intended to wipe them out? And if this assassin knew her name, knew how to single her out…

 _Am I the target? Moira, what have you planned this time?_


	18. Chapter 18

"So she can talk?"

"I don't know if I'd call it 'talking'; not what we think of talking I mean—"

"She knew your name, and the name of the person who sent her."

"That's a liminal understanding at best; I don't think you're going to get what you want out of her."

Jack crossed his arms. "We have to question her; she attacked our base, killed multiple agents, and that's just the damage she caused here. You went to Antonio's estate, Angela; you saw for yourself what she did there, not to mention what happened in King's Row—"

"I am not saying she's innocent by any stretch, Jack," Angela interrupted. "All I am trying to tell you is that I do not believe brute force and intimidation will work on her."

Jack didn't look pleased by that, and after a pause, he said, "What would you suggest then?"

Angela shook her head. "I don't know, not yet. Maybe given some time, she'll start to come to her senses—"

"How much time?" Ana, who had been watching silently, asked. The other turned to look at her, and the captain approached. "A week? A month? Are we to keep her restrained and confined during this time?"

"I can't say for sure—"

"You say she won't answer questions, but there is no way to gauge where she is unless we try, correct? If this child wants any semblance of freedom, then she needs to start giving us answers."

* * *

 _Why didn't they kill me? Why are they torturing me like this?_

Being forced to remain still was only making the pain from her suit that much worse, and Tracer was growing more than restless at this point. It had become apparent early on that struggling would get her nowhere, but the longer she was forced to endure the pain, the more desperate she became.

The door to the room opened, and Tracer vaguely registered the fact that someone was approaching her.

"You won't free yourself."

Tracer looked up at the familiar voice, seeing a woman standing in front of her.

"You know who I am?" the woman continued.

This woman… she was the one Tracer had attacked after killing the omnic. She would have killed her too if her helmet hadn't been shot.

"… Should have killed you…" Tracer managed to get out, her voice almost a growl.

"Perhaps; you certainly came close." The woman shifted before she continued, "Is that why you came here? To finish the job?"

Was that why Moira had sent her here? To finish what she had failed to do before? If so, she had failed the geneticist yet again.

 _Maybe that's why they left me here…_

"You knew who Angela was; is she a target?"

Tracer fixed the woman with a glare; they wanted answers out of her, wanted her to turn on Talon.

The woman let out a sigh. "Why do you protect them? Do you honestly feel loyalty to Talon? What have these people done for you, except make you into a weapon? I can't imagine that was a pleasant process."

It wasn't Talon she was loyal to; it was Moira, and Reaper, and Sombra. She knew Moira had made her this way, but the redhead had also tried to protect her against Antonio and Arsenic. And Reaper and Sombra… they had killed Vialli for hurting her, for making her hurt Moira's family.

 _I can't turn against them._

* * *

"They're not going to get what they want out of her, they just aren't, but no one will listen to me."

Fareeha frowned slightly as Angela sat with a sigh. "Maybe she'll end up turning on Talon."

Angela gave her partner a look. "You don't understand; you're thinking like they are. This woman can barely speak, let alone answer questions. Even if she understands what we're asking, I doubt she can form coherent sentences. Who knows what Talon has done to her mind, how they've conditioned her." Angela shook her head; she didn't want to admit to Fareeha that her ex-wife was the driving force behind the assassin.

"I'll go make you some tea, maybe find some of that chocolate you like?"

Angela smiled slightly, taking the younger Amari's hand. "Thank you."

Fareeha nodded before she pressed a kiss to the blonde's forehead and left the office, leaving Angela alone.

A notification popped up on Angela's tablet, and the doctor looked up, pulling her tablet over towards her.

 _One new email._

Before Angela could even think whether or not she wanted to see who the email was from, the program suddenly opened it, and the tablet screen went black.

 _Greetings Doctor. Do you recall the day of our marriage?_

Angela's heart dropped as the purple letters lit up the screen. This was from Moira, no doubt, and the blonde could see a space where some characters were obviously meant to be entered. She knew she should just turn this over to Winston, let him deal with this; after all, Moira had sent her assassin here, and had taught her how to pick Angela out. Whatever this was, it couldn't be anything good; some virus or spyware, no doubt.

And yet, Angela remained rooted to the spot. It had been years since their divorce now, and Moira had never reached out to her before. So why now? What had changed? Against her better judgment, Angela began to enter their wedding date, then stopped.

" _Why do we have to have so many people in attendance?"_

" _They're our friends—"_

" _And yet our wedding is meant to be about us." Moira stood and approached the blonde, cupping her face gently with one hand. "Therefore I say we get married now, before all this hullabaloo."_

 _Angela's brow furrowed. "You want to get married before our wedding?"_

" _I want it to be about us, not about the fancy place settings and the formal attire."_

" _You love formal attire."_

 _Moira's lips twitched. "True as that may be, I love you far more." A pause. "So we are in agreement then? We marry before everyone has a chance to gawk at us?"_

 _Angela shook her heads slightly. "We have to have witnesses to sign the license—"_

" _Fine, then I declare us married as of this moment."_

" _I don't think it works that way—"_

" _But it eases the pressure of the actual day, yes? It doesn't matter if anyone else knows; you and I will know the truth."_

Angela let out a sigh as the memory faded. It had seemed a ridiculous notion at the time, and she would never admit it to the redhead of course, but it had eased some of the pressure of making their wedding day perfect.

The blonde deleted what she had been typing and instead put the date of that conversation in. The black screen disappeared, followed by pages upon pages of multiple files. Angela wasn't entirely sure what she was looking at, and once they finally stopped loading, a timer appeared in the upper corner.

 _In two hours, these documents will be permanently deleted. Use your time wisely, Doctor._

Angela looked back at the documents, her gaze falling on header of the first document.

 _Project: Talon Assassin_

 _Code Name: Tracer_

Blue eyes widened as Angela realized what she was looking at. This was all of Moira's research; every step, every process, everything she had done to create Tracer.

And Angela had two hours to read as much as she could.

* * *

Amélie watched through the observation window as Lena continued to struggle against her restraints, occasionally letting out noises that didn't even sound human. She didn't even want to think about what Talon had put the brunette through, or how long she had been held captive by them.

"Lena, you said?"

Amélie let out a sigh, not looking at the captain standing beside her. "Yes; Lena Oxton."

Ana nodded, watching the struggling assassin as well. "How do you know her?"

"When Gerard was stationed at King's Row, we met her." It wasn't a lie, but it certainly was far from the entire truth, though Amélie didn't feel like sharing that with her mentor. "I can't imagine what Talon has done to her… she wasn't like this before. She wouldn't even look at you without a smile, and now…"

 _And now she's a killer._

"Have you gone in to speak to her?" Ana asked after a pause.

Amélie shook her head. "I doubt she would even recognize me."

 _And that would hurt too much, make this all too real. To look into those eyes and not even see a glimmer of recognition…_

The captain shrugged. "You won't know unless you try. Besides, it's not like she's talking to anyone else. Trust me, I have already tried."

* * *

It was becoming too much. The pain was too much and Tracer just wanted it to end. Let Overwatch kill her if that's what it took, anything to stop the pain.

The door suddenly opened, and Tracer looked up to see a tall woman approaching, her long hair pulled back tightly. The woman approached slowly, and Tracer could tell that those golden eyes were sizing her up.

Golden eyes.

Something stirred deep in the recesses of her mind, and as the woman drew closer, Tracer struggled to focus through her pain. The woman stopped a few feet away, and it was silent between them.

"Lena… are you still in there?"

That name… she knew that name…

 _Lena… that's me… isn't it?_

"… Know you…"

Amélie's eyes widened at that. Lena was obviously struggling to remember, but this proved she was still in there. "Yes… it's me, Amélie… do you remember? We... we were close." The French woman wasn't sure if anyone was watching them through the window, and she didn't need everyone knowing their business.

"… Amélie…?" Lena said her name as if testing the way it sounded, and her voice sounded foreign to the sniper.

"Yes…" Amélie slowly reached a hand out, and Lena flinched as blue-tinged fingers brushed against her cheek, her chest heaving. "Easy…" The sniper gently cupped Lena's cheek, her thumb stroking the brunette's cheekbone.

Tracer wasn't sure what this Amélie was doing, but her touch… it was so gentle, so familiar… Tracer found herself almost leaning into it, her eyes never leaving the French woman.

The door suddenly opened, drawing Tracer's attention. The brunette let out a low growl, immediately going back on the defensive and jerking away from Amélie's touch.

"Amélie, it's not safe for you to be in here alone—"

"She's restrained," the French woman said, voice laced with irritation. If Jack had just given her more time, she could have gotten through to Lena.

Jack crossed his arms. "We haven't gotten her to talk; she obviously has some strong loyalty to Talon. If normal interrogation methods don't work, we'll have to try others."

"That won't get you anywhere."

The two looked over as Angela entered, looking slightly more disheveled than usual.

"Tracer won't talk because she has been conditioned not to," the doctor continued upon reaching them. "We need to get her out of that suit now."

"What—"

"Trust me, if we take it off, she'll calm down." A pause. "What are you waiting for, let her loose so I can take the suit off."

"Angela, she's a killer—"

"A killer who has been kept in perpetual pain to make her obedient. You want her to help us out, we need to help her first."

Jack still looked skeptical. "Let me speak to the others, and we'll decide the best to way to go about this." Jack left the room, and Angela let out a frustrated sigh.

"Is what you said true?" Amélie asked. "Is that suit hurting her?"

"Yes; it is keeping her in a constant state of pain." Angela looked back at Tracer, who had returned to struggling to free herself. "The sooner we get her out of it, the sooner she'll calm down."

Amélie looked back at Tracer as well before she said, "Then let's get her out of it."

Angela looked at the sniper. "Jack won't be happy—"

"I don't care. Lena has been in pain long enough."

Angela approached the assassin, whose gaze had returned to the doctor. "We're going to let you out of these," the blonde said as she reached for the restraints, beginning to undo them.

The second she was free, Tracer blinked across the room, hitting the wall hard enough to rebound off it. She could finally move, she had to distract herself from this pain—

"Tracer."

The brunette paused at the voice; stern and commanding, just like Moira. She turned towards Angela, watching as the blonde approached.

"I'm going to take this suit off of you," Angela said. "You won't be in pain anymore."

No pain… Tracer couldn't remember what that felt like, though she was still wary when Angela tried to approach her.

"Lena, please… we want to help you," Amélie said.

Tracer looked between the two, her pain keeping her on edge. They were Overwatch, yet they claimed they wanted to help… Angela had already freed her, that was true, but for what purpose? After they removed her suit, then what?

"Lena."

That name… Amélie kept using it like she should know who that was, but Tracer didn't know who Lena was, she didn't know how to be Lena. Tracer became aware that Angela had approached her again, and she let out a low growl.

"Look, do you want out of that suit or not?" Angela said, her voice stern.

Tracer's eyes narrowed, but she did her best to hold still as Angela undid the suit, eventually pulling it free. The pain finally stopped, and it took Tracer a few moments to register such as a feeling of numbness fell over her.

Angela's gaze had fallen on the wound on Tracer's shoulder, and she looked inside the suit, seeing a bullet lodged in the armor covering the shoulder. "Who shot her?"

"I did," Amélie admitted as she removed the jacket she was wearing. "We were trying to subdue her." The sniper approached Tracer slowly, noting how still the assassin was. She reached the brunette and gently draped the jacket around her shoulders.

Tracer jumped at the feeling of cloth around her, and she looked up at Amélie.

 _Why are they being nice to me?_

"What is that in her chest?" Amélie asked, having noticed the glowing red light behind the glass plate.

Angela leaned in to examine the plate, and Tracer let out a warning growl, which was met with a flick on the ear. Tracer let out a noise that was a mixture of surprise and pain, rubbing the spot.

"Don't growl at me," Angela said sternly. "That might have been what Talon wanted, but you're a person, and people use words. I know you've regained your ability to speak; now you need to start working on regaining it fully." The blonde turned her attention back to the technology in Tracer's chest, noticing how it blended flawlessly into her skin. "I'm not sure what this is exactly, but whatever it is, it was surgically put in." Angela straightened up, looking at Amélie.

"They performed surgery on her?" It just kept getting worse. Amélie looked back at the brunette, who was fiddling with one of the jacket hood strings absently.

"We'll have to ask Winston to find out what exactly it is. Until then, we need to find a safe place for Tracer; she can't be left unsupervised, but restraining her or locking her up will only agitate her."

"I'll watch her," Amélie found herself saying. She wasn't quite sure why, but something was telling her that she owed this to the brunette.

 _Maybe I'll find a way to bring Lena Oxton back._


	19. Chapter 19

"It's quiet without her."

"You make more than enough noise on your own, trust me."

Sombra made a face; Moira would never admit it out loud, of course, but Tracer's absence was having more than a small effect on her. The geneticist didn't seem to have an interest in any of her other projects, and Sombra would honestly be hard-pressed to explain what the redhead did with her time now.

"The Council wants to speak with us," Reaper said, coming into the kitchen.

"Of course they do," Moira muttered before she got to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor. "We might as well get this over with then."

* * *

"So what exactly happened to the assassin?"

"We sent her on a mission to cripple an Overwatch headquarters, though we were unable to extract her." Moira knew she had to remain indifferent, and keep her answers to the bare minimum. The Council didn't need any additional information; as long as they believed this was a routine mission, everything would work out.

"We were under the impression she had been trained to return to you after a mission."

"Which is exactly how we knew something had gone awry. She did not return in the specified time limit; we had no choice but to leave her behind."

Silence, followed by, "She was captured by Overwatch then?"

"Captured or killed; we had no contact with her, so it is difficult to say."

"I see."

Silence again.

"If that is all—" Moira started, wanting this meeting to be over.

"Not just yet. Your investment in this project has come into question, O'Deorain. We have reports that you refused to send the assassin on missions, and objected to having her kill."

Of course; Moira had expected that Arsenic had gotten to them by now. "I objected to having her kill without reason; she is an assassin, not a mercenary."

"She is useless to us now, if Overwatch has her."

"Another can be made—"

"No; your first two attempts have been failures. We have made the decision to turn the project over to a more competent party. You will hand over all your research on the assassin project."

Moira's fists clenched tightly at that. Calm, she needed to remain calm. She should have expected this, should have seen this coming after everything that had happened with Arsenic and Vialli.

"O'Deorain?"

"You can turn this project over to someone else, but my research is my own. If they are so competent, let them come up with their own."

* * *

She was out of the suit, had been for a few hours now; Amélie had given her a t-shirt and a pair of sweats to wear. Tracer couldn't remember what it was like to wear regular clothing, and the loose fabric felt odd on her skin. However, now her skin felt as though it were crawling no matter how hard she scratched at it. Tracer let out a noise of distress, and another followed as she continued to scratch at her skin in a desperate effort to force the crawling feeling away. She didn't stop even when she began to make herself bleed; she just wanted this feeling to stop, she just wanted to feel normal again. Even the pain was preferable to this.

"Lena, stop!" Amélie was suddenly in front of her, grabbing her wrists in an effort to restrain her.

The brunette let out a yell, struggling to free herself. She needed to make this feeling go away, needed to do whatever it took.

Amélie was finding that Lena was deceptively strong, and she fought to keep the brunette from scratching herself further. However, Lena was not making it easy on her, and Amélie made the decision to kick her legs out from underneath her, bringing them both to the floor. Lena let out a feral noise, trying to claw herself free, but Amélie kept her pinned to the floor.

"Lena, please," Amélie managed, her voice strained with the effort of keeping the brunette pinned. She felt nails rake across her face, and the sniper let out a hiss of pain, though she didn't let Lena up.

Lena suddenly jerked as if struck, and Amélie could see a sleep dart sticking out of her neck. The brunette's struggling weakened, and she soon went still under the sniper.

"Are you all right?" Ana asked as she approached.

"I'm fine, and I was handling it," Amélie replied, getting to her feet.

"Your face is bleeding."

Amélie put a hand to the spot, which stung slightly, and she shook her head. "It's fine."

"What happened here?" Ana gestured towards the sleeping Lena.

"I don't know, she just started scratching at her skin. I couldn't get her to stop, even when she started bleeding."

"I thought you were supposed to be watching her."

"I was! I mean, I am!" Amélie let out a string of incoherent French before she said, "Look, I only took my eyes off her for a second—"

"That was apparently all it took."

Amélie let out the breath she'd been holding through her nose, doing her best to keep her composure. "It won't happen again."

"I hope not; you and Angela are being held responsible for her actions, seeing as how you two chose to release her."

Yes, that decision had not been received well. Upon realizing what they had done, Jack had given Amélie and Angela an earful for disobeying his orders. The sniper knew that this did nothing to dissuade the others from the idea that she was Talon sympathetic, but she didn't care. They didn't know Lena, didn't know who she was before she was turned into this weapon.

"I will keep a better eye on her," Amélie said, gathering Lena up into her arms and holding the brunette close.

"See that you do."

* * *

"How did you know?"

Angela looked up from where she was wrapping bandages around Lena's arms. "Pardon?

"How did you know about the suit, about what it was doing to her?"

Oh. Angela knew she should have expected these types of questions sooner or later. Her sudden knowledge about Lena's condition was not something that would go unnoticed. "I received some files regarding her… condition."

Amélie's eyes narrowed at the doctor's cagey behavior. "You mean you received intel from Talon."

"Not Talon as a whole; just Moira."

Amélie knew that name; the geneticist who had once worked for Overwatch, the one who had joined Gabriel Reyes in betraying the organization. "I thought you had cut off contact with her."

"I did—I have. Look, I didn't reach out to her; she sent the files to me, encrypted I might add, and after two hours, they erased themselves."

"So she didn't want anyone else to know."

"It would seem that way." Angela let out a sigh, looking down at the still sleeping Lena. "I'm still unsure of what her motives are. She spent all this time turning Lena into an assassin, and then sent her here. Either she intends to destroy us, or…" The doctor trailed off, unsure of how Amélie would receive the other option.

"Or?"

"Or she wants us to help Lena."

Amélie's eyes narrowed. "After what she did to both Lena and myself, you honestly believe she wants to help?"

"I don't know what she wants!" The blonde let out another sigh, taking a breath as she tried to recompose herself. "Moira has always had her own agenda, no matter who she is working for. I can't say for sure what her intentions were when she sent Lena here, but what's important is that we have Lena now. I wasn't able to read through everything, not in the time allowed, but from what I gathered… I do not believe this process is permanent."

That was the glimmer of hope Amélie had been hoping for. "So there is a chance we could reverse this? Bring Lena back?"

"I doubt we could ever bring her back to the way she was before, but yes, I do believe that with time and effort, we could remind Lena that she is more than a weapon."

* * *

Upon waking up, Tracer found herself lying in an unfamiliar bed, and she sat up with a slight groan. Her gaze fell on the clean white bandages wrapped all the way up her arms, and she let out a slightly curious noise as she examined them.

"Leave those alone."

Tracer looked up at the voice, seeing Amélie sitting at a desk a little ways away.

"You want to tell me why you started scratching your arms up so badly?" the sniper continued, turning her gaze towards the brunette.

Tracer looked down at her bandaged arms, not sure how to express what she had been feeling. Even if she could find the words to explain it, how would they understand? How could anyone here understand what she had been through, what she was currently going through? She was amongst the enemy, despite what they tried to make her think; even Angela, who was supposed to be safe, was still Overwatch, which made her the enemy.

"Lena?"

"Tracer."

Amélie didn't like that at all. "Tracer is not who you are; it's who they made you into. Your name is Lena Oxton—"

"Don't know her."

That hurt more than Amélie expected. The sniper stood and approached the brunette, sitting beside her on the bed. She noticed Lena's tense body language; never had Amélie imagined that there would come a time where Lena wouldn't trust her, or would even consider her an enemy. "Lena… do you remember anything? Before you were turned into… this."

Tracer looked down at her hands, not used to seeing them outside of her armor. Trying to remember her life before Talon was like trying to see through a murky body of water. She knew there was something there, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't see what it was. The brunette shook her head, looking back up at Amélie.

That is what she had been afraid of. Amélie let out a sigh, reaching a hand out slowly, gently cupping Lena's cheek. "They really took everything from you…"

She was touching her again, but this wasn't like the way anyone had touched her before. Tracer was used to harsh blows; hands on her meant pain, but Amélie… her touch was gentle. It was obvious that Amélie had known her before, and Tracer was beginning to wonder what their relationship had been.

"Tell me…" Tracer said, looking up at Amélie's golden eyes.

Amélie's brow furrowed slightly, but then she understood what Lena meant. "You and I… we met when my husband, Gerard, was stationed in King's Row. I admit, I wasn't entirely pleased to be there… I was still dealing with my own issues…"

-/-/-/-

Amélie let out an annoyed sigh as she stood in front of the window, looking out over King's Row.

"Pretty nice view, _non_?" Gerard said from where he was unpacking.

"I don't know why you felt the need to drag me out here with you," Amélie said, turning to face her husband. "Overwatch won't reinstate my status as an agent—"

"And rightfully so."

Amélie bristled at that. "And what is that supposed to mean? You do not think me capable? You—"

"Amélie, _ma belle fleur_ , you know that I am your biggest fan, but it has only been a few months since your rescue from Talon." Gerard approached his wife, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You need time to recover, to readjust to daily life. This trip will be good for both of us, you'll see."

Amélie let out an annoyed huff, moving out of Gerard's grasp. "This is no trip for you, _mari_. You actually have work to do, so what am I supposed to do while you are out gallivanting?"

"Explore the city, perhaps make some friends? London could agree with you."

Amélie let out a noise of derision. "As if I could find anything in the entirety of England to agree with."

* * *

Amélie did not go far the first few days of their stay in King's Row. Part of her still feared seeing Talon waiting around corners for her, though remaining in their apartment did little to make her feel safe either.

The sniper eventually found herself in a pub late one afternoon near the end of the week, and as she looked down at the wine in front of her, she began to consider how she would tell Gerard that she wanted to go home. Not home to Overwatch, but home to France, to Paris. Maybe there she would feel safe, surrounded by familiar sights in a city that she knew like that back of her hand.

 _Except I don't know my hands anymore…_

Amélie looked down at her hands, which were still blue in color. According to Angela, it was better; her entire forearms had been blue upon her initial return, but they had since returned to their pale color.

 _How much longer until I can feel normal again?_

"Well, don't you look sad; perhaps we can buy you a drink and cheer you up?"

Amélie sighed; this was not something she wanted to deal with right now. "No thank you." However, as usual, her accent gave away her foreign nature, and it did not go unnoticed.

"Come on, let us buy you a pint," the men persisted.

"I said no thank you." Amélie made to move, but one of them grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Oi! She said no!"

The Cockney accent was sharp, and Amélie looked over to see a young woman approaching, looking less than pleased. Her brown hair was spiked and untamed, as if she didn't own a single comb or brush (or a mirror for that matter), and her freckles almost made it hard to take her seriously.

"Mind your own business Oxton," one of the men said irritably, his tone indicating this wasn't the first time the brunette had confronted him.

"Leave her alone, you heard her say no," the woman, Oxton, continued. "Or do I have to deck you again? You want another shiner, is that it?"

Amélie briefly wondered if this woman would really get into a fight for her, but that question was quickly answered when one of the men took a swing at Oxton. She ducked and threw herself at him, tackling him and bringing them both to the floor. The sniper had to admit that she was impressed; the brunette was small in stature, but seemed to be able to scrap with the best of them. In fact, Amélie would have wagered that Oxton would have knocked the first man out if the second hadn't seized her from behind, holding her arms and pinning them behind her back as he pulled her to her feet.

The first man got to his feet and began to lay punches into the now defenseless brunette, and Amélie knew then that she had seen enough. The sniper quickly got to her feet, grabbing a fork as she did so. She wrapped an arm around the first man's neck before pressing the fork into his ribs, causing him to pause in his attack as he let out a grunt of pain.

"Are you familiar with your brachial artery, because that is what this fork is currently pressed against," Amélie said, her voice calm and level. "It's a very important artery, actually; once you start to bleed, you'll lose consciousness in fifteen seconds. You'll die in ninety unless someone comes to your aid, and given your recent behavior, which includes cowardly beating a defenseless woman, how likely do you think that is to happen?"

The man struggled, and Amélie held him tighter, pressing the fork harder against the spot.

"You think I am joking? This fork may be dull, but I assure you, I am determined."

The man seemed to finally realize that Amélie meant business, and her managed to grunt out, "Fine, we're going."

"A decidedly pleasant outcome for us all." The sniper released him, and his friend released the brunette before the two men left.

"I've never seen anything like that before; you're amazing!" Oxton said excitedly when Amélie approached her.

"Are you all right? Your nose is bleeding."

"Oh, that's nothin', don't worry 'bout me." The brunette grinned, and Amélie's lips twitched, a smile almost playing across them.

"Listen, thank you for what you did, but you really didn't have to defend me."

"Yeah, I can see that you're capable, but I jus' 'ate when people are like that, yeah? Givin' the rest of us in King's Row a bad name, they are!" The look on Oxton's face was so indignant that Amélie couldn't help but let out a short laugh.

"Perhaps I can buy you a drink as thanks?"

"Aww thanks luv, real nice of ya!" The brunette hopped onto one of the stools, and Amélie moved to sit beside her. "A pint for me mate!"

"So, can I know the name of my valiant, if a bit short, defender?" Amélie said, a slight tease in her voice.

"Oh, right! Name's Lena Oxton."

"Amélie Lacroix."

-/-/-/-

Lena yawned for the third time, which did not go unnoticed by the sniper.

"It is late, and you have had a long day. We should go to bed, and I will continue this tomorrow," Amélie said.

Lena let out a disappointed noise, but took one of the pillows off the bed before she curled up on the floor, holding the pillow in a death grip.

"Lena, why are you on the floor?"

"Sleep here."

Amélie frowned at that before she gently took Lena's arm, pulling her back up. "You don't have to sleep on the floor; my bed is spacious enough for the both of us."

Lena looked at the bed, letting out an unsure noise from the back of her throat.

"It's all right."

Slowly, Lena climbed back into the bed and lay down; the mattress was almost too soft, and the brunette wasn't sure if she could get entirely comfortable on it. She watched as Amélie went to switch off the light, and tracked her figure through the darkened room as she returned.

" _Bonne nuit_ ," Amélie said before she lay down as well, though a respectable distance from the brunette.

Silence filled the room. Tracer lay in the darkness, acutely aware of the sound of her own breathing. She knew the others thought she should be grateful to be away from Talon, to no longer be treated as a weapon, but it was honestly terrifying. She had no idea how she was supposed to act; what was normal supposed to feel like? There was nothing familiar about this place, or this Lena person she was supposed to be.

Tracer clutched her arms as tears began running down her face. Her shoulders trembled as she fought to hold them back, and she closed her eyes tightly.

"Lena?" Amélie's arms were suddenly around her, and Tracer buried her face in the sniper's cool neck.

 _What am I supposed to do?_


	20. Chapter 20

Amélie let out a sigh, rubbing her eyes as she waited for the coffeemaker to finish. It had been a restless night for Lena, and the sniper honestly wasn't sure if either of them had gotten any sleep.

"Are you hungry, Lena?" Amélie asked, glancing at the where the brunette was sitting at the table.

Lena didn't reply, and Amélie turned to face her.

"When was the last time you ate?"

Lena shrugged; she honestly couldn't recall, and hunger wasn't really something she was familiar enough, at least not enough to express to the French woman.

Amélie frowned before she said, "Well, you need to eat, so I'll make you some breakfast." The French woman began pulling out supplies before she reached over to turn on the stove.

"You two are up early," Angela said, coming into the kitchen. "Did you sleep all right, Lena?"

Lena didn't reply, instead looking down at her hands.

"I don't think either of us slept much last night," Amélie supplied.

Angela let out a noise of affirmation before she approached the sniper. "Are you holding up all right? We can find someone else to watch after Lena if it's too overwhelming for you—"

"I can handle it; I'm the only other person here who knows anything about what she's been through."

"That may be true, but you don't need to handle this all by yourself."

Amélie shook her head. "You know that isn't true, not right now anyway. We were already reprimanded for releasing her; no one else here trusts Lena because they don't know her, not like I do." The sniper sighed, looking down at the eggs in the pan on the stove.

Angela nodded, crossing her arms. "I need to run a medical and psychiatric evaluation on her today. That coupled with Moira's research may give us a clue about the best way to begin helping her."

Amélie glanced back at the brunette, who was currently examining the bandages wrapped around her arms. "You might get the medical exam done, but I doubt she'll be able to talk enough yet for a psychiatric one. She couldn't even tell me if she was hungry this morning."

The blonde let out a "hmm"ing noise, crossing her arms. "My initial impression is that she's suffering from a form of institutionalization; you see it often in prisoners. They become so used to having their lives dictated that they have trouble functioning with their newfound freedom. Lena has been told when to sleep, when to eat; she won't tell you if she wants something because that isn't what she's used to." Angela looked at the sniper, trying to read her expression. "It's going to be a lot of work, you know… Lena may never be the woman you remember."

Amélie's grip tightened on her cooking utensils. "I have to try. I cannot just give up on her."

* * *

"Angela needs to run a medical examination on you, just to make sure you're all right."

Tracer wasn't quite sure what Amélie was talking about, but as they rounded a corner and entered another room, her gaze fell on some sort of table.

 _No, no, not again! They're just like Talon!_

Tracer stopped in her tracks, letting out a noise of protest.

"Lena, it's all right—" Amélie started.

"No more pain," Tracer managed to get out.

"This isn't going to hurt you, I promise."

Tracer wasn't entirely sure if she trusted the French woman, but then again, the sniper had been the one to get her out of the suit, and she had made her breakfast.

"Listen, I understand why you're hesitant about this, especially after what Talon did to you, but we want to help you get better," Amélie said. "After we finish here, I can tell you more about your past, pick up where we left off last night?"

Tracer paused for a moment as she considered. While she didn't entirely believe that Overwatch wanted to help her (who knew what "get better" meant for them, their intentions could be to make her into a their own type of weapon), she did want to know more about herself and her past. The brunette nodded before she approached the table, climbing up onto it.

"This won't take very long," Angela said as she approached the brunette, helping her lie down. "Just lie still when the scanner moves over you."

Tracer wasn't entirely sure what that meant, and when she saw a device moving over her, she tensed up, her fists clenching tightly. A few minutes passed, during which Tracer never took her eyes off the device as it moved.

"All done," Angela said once the device stopped moving.

Tracer's brow furrowed slightly as she sat up; could that really be it? There had been no pain, no restraints… nothing at all like she was used to. Could Angela really have been telling her the truth?

"You called for me?"

Amélie looked up at Winston's entrance, and she heard Lena let out a low warning growl. "Easy; he's a friend," the sniper said, touching Lena's arm gently.

"Yes; we need you to examine the device in Lena's chest," Angela said. She turned back to Lena before she added, "This is Winston; he's just going to look at the device in your chest, so you need to remove your shirt."

Lena didn't look convinced, and she let out another warning noise when Winston began to approach, though that stopped when Angela flicked her ear in that painful way again.

"I told you to practice using your voice again, and that means no more growling," Angela said sternly. "Winston needs to look at your device, so please remove your shirt."

Lena paused for a moment, but Angela's stern tone seemed to convince her, and she did as she was told, though she still looked hesitant when Winston approached her.

"There's no doubt about it; that device is the same one that was stolen almost a year ago," Winston said after examining the accelerator for a minute or so.

"What is it?" Amélie asked.

"It was a prototype for a chronal device I was working on."

"Time manipulation?" Angela asked. "I don't recall hearing anything about a project regarding that."

"It was highly classified," Winston replied, as if that explained everything.

"Once again, Overwatch sees it fit to keep secrets from their own members," Amélie said, crossing her arms with a huff. "This device, was it meant to be surgically implanted like this?"

"It didn't get that far—"

"Was it?"

Winston sighed. "Maybe at some point, if the harness wasn't viable…"

"So how do we remove it?"

The gorilla shook his head. "You don't. Her body has already adapted to it, and now it's relying on the device to keep her stabilized. Removing it would most likely kill her."

* * *

It was silent as Amélie led Lena back to her room, and the sniper let out a sigh as she sat on the bed. It seemed as though her earlier accusation of Overwatch having a hand in what had happened to Lena was still true. They had built the device that Talon had put into the brunette; they hadn't even seen it fit to tell their agents that they had built such a device.

 _Would Talon have tried to put that device in me? Did Overwatch have a notion of their intentions when the device was stolen?_

"After the pub…"

Amélie looked up at Lena's voice, seeing the brunette looking at her. "What?"

Lena looked down, a noise coming from the back of her throat that indicated she was trying to figure out how to form the right words. "You and Lena…"

"Oh, yes, I suppose I did say I would continue telling you about our past." Amélie patted the bed beside her, and Lena sat down, looking at the sniper expectantly. "We didn't stay long after our introductions…"

-/-/-/-

"You're not from around here, are you?"

Amélie smiled slightly as she followed the brunette outside. "What gave it away?"

"Jus' lots of little things; I've lived here long enough to spot the difference." Lena hopped onto a bicycle that had a rickshaw attached to the back. "So where are you staying?"

"It's close enough for me to walk—"

"It's really no problem; come on, this ride is on me."

Amélie paused a moment before she climbed into the rickshaw, and Lena pushed off from the curb, beginning to pedal.

"So what brings you to King's Row?"

"Uhh… work," Amélie managed to reply, shaking her head from where she'd been distracted by Lena's… backside as the brunette pedaled.

"Oh yeah? What kinda work you in?"

Normally, Amélie wouldn't have been afraid to admit her involvement with Overwatch, but after everything that had happened with Talon… The French woman highly doubted that Lena was some kind of undercover agent, but she was still hesitant about trusting anyone.

"Public safety." It wasn't entirely a lie; it was just a very vague version of the truth.

"Oh." Lena coasted around a corner before she began pedaling again, once again distracting the French woman. "So where am I supposed to turn?" Lena asked after another minute or so.

"What—oh." Amélie realized they had long passed her turn, and she wasn't entirely sure where they were now. "Can you get to Meridian Apartments from here?"

"No problem!" Lena turned down another street, and the brunette pointed out different sights to Amélie as she rode.

Eventually, they reached the apartments, and Lena slowed to a stop in front of the building. "Here we are!"

Amélie climbed out of the rickshaw, pulling out her wallet. "How much—"

"No, I already told you, this one's on me."

"But—"

"Put it away."

Amélie did so, still feeling like she owed the brunette something. "If you won't let me pay you, at least come inside and let me fix you some tea."

Lena opened her mouth to respond, but a sudden beeping interrupted her. The brunette looked down at her watch, letting out a yelp. "Bollocks, I'm going to be late! Sorry luv, rain check on that tea? I 'ave to go to work, and if I'm late again, my boss will 'ave my 'ead." Being flustered apparently made her accent thicker, and after taking a moment to decipher what she'd said, Amélie nodded.

"Sure—"

"Great; see you later!" Lena quickly pedaled away, soon disappearing around a corner.

Amélie paused a few moments before she headed inside, making her way up to their apartment.

"Well, this is a surprise," Gerard said from where he was sitting on the couch as Amélie entered. "You coming home after me; you must have been enjoying yourself."

Amélie gave a sort of half shrug, hanging her jacket by the door before she approached her husband. "As much as one can in a country that isn't home."

Gerard got to his feet, going to his wife and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, being stationed in a new country and being unable to work, but you have been taking this so well so far and I'm proud of you. Perhaps tonight we shall go out and celebrate our first week here, _oui_?"

Amélie opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Gerard that she didn't want to stay, that this was too hard and she just wanted to go home, but his face was so hopeful that the sniper closed her mouth and nodded. "Yes, that sounds nice."

* * *

"Tell me about your day."

Amélie shrugged. "Nothing much to tell. I went to a pub and attracted the attention of gentlemen who, as usual, do no like to be told no."

Gerard frowned. "Gentlemen I need to take care of?"

Amélie smiled slightly. "No; I had a different gallant defender today."

"Oh? Some other chap came to your rescue? I shall have to thank him."

Amélie's gaze fell on a familiar figure, and she smiled slightly. "You can do so today if you wish; she's right there."

Gerard's brow furrowed before he followed Amélie's gaze, eventually spotting Lena. "A bit shorter than your usual tastes, _ma belle fleur_ , but I suppose I can see the appeal. How shall you go about wooing her?"

Amélie colored lightly. "What makes you think I intend to do so?"

"Well, for starters, you haven't stopped staring at her, and I know for a fact that I am the most interesting thing in this room."

Amélie gave her husband a look, and Gerard grinned. "I have no intentions regarding Lena. She is British first of all, and that is simply unforgiveable."

"Mmm, we will see."

* * *

Amélie wasn't entirely sure how she was going to find Lena again. The brunette hadn't exactly given her a way to contact her, though Amélie supposed if she wandered King's Row long enough, she'd eventually run into Lena. At least she hoped that would be the case.

"Oi, Amélie Lacroix!"

The French woman turned at her name just as Lena pulled up on her bike beside her. " _Salut_."

"Trying to get somewhere?" the brunette asked.

"No, I was looking for you actually."

"Me? Why?"

"My offer of tea, remember? Hopefully this time you do not have to rush off to the Hoof and Haunch."

Lena flushed a bit. "Saw me there, did you?"

"You were very cute." It was out before Amélie could stop it, and it caused Lena's flush to darken.

"N-no, I don't have to work tonight," the brunette managed after a few moments. "Hop in an' I'll take you home."

It was a short ride to the apartments, and as they headed inside, Lena seemed impressed by the interior.

"Never been in 'ere before… fancy," the brunette commented as they rode the elevator up.

Amélie led Lena to their apartment once they arrived at their floor, making her way to the kitchen once they were inside. "Make yourself at home."

"So how long you been in King's Row?" Lena asked, settling herself on the couch.

"About a week now." Amélie's brow furrowed as she fumbled a bit with the tea leaves.

"Having a bit of trouble?" Lena asked, coming up beside the sniper.

"No, you can sit down—"

"And let you butcher this tea? You're real tidy to look at luv, but not enough to make up for ruining tea." Lena took over the tea preparation with an obviously practiced hand, leaving Amélie to wonder just what "tidy" was supposed to mean.

"You make it look easy," Amélie said, accepting one of the teacups Lena handed her after a few minutes.

"I'm not much of a cook, but I can make tea, let me tell you," Lena said, picking up her own teacup.

"A skill your parents passed down to you?" Amélie asked as she settled on the couch, folding her legs underneath her.

Lena paused at that, and Amélie could see the slight pain in her features. "No… my family was killed during the Null Sector Uprising. I was young, so I don't remember much about it, or them."

"Oh… I'm sorry."

Lena shook her head, as if shaking away a bad memory, and the smile returned to her face as she approached the couch, sitting beside Amélie. "It all turned out okay; I mean, I have my bike and I get to take people 'round King's Row."

"This is in addition to your job at the restaurant?"

"Gotta pay those bills somehow, yeah?" Lena took a sip from her tea before she said, "What about you? You said you worked in public safety; what's that about?"

Amélie looked down at the teacup in her hands as she considered how to respond. Lena seemed trustworthy enough, and they were in the relative safety of the sniper's apartment… "I work for an organization called Overwatch—"

"Overwatch, really?" Lena's expression lit up at that, and the questions that followed came rapid-fire. "What's that like? What do you do? How long 'ave you been working for them? Is that why you're 'ere, for official Overwatch business—"

"I cannot process that many questions at one time," Amélie said, covering the brunette's mouth with one hand. "Choose one to ask." She lowered her hand, and Lena's brow furrowed. She caught the French woman's wrist, looking down at the blue-tinged skin.

"What happened to your hand?" the brunette asked, looking back up at Amélie. "Why's it all blue?"

"Not important," Amélie said, quickly pulling her hand away.

"Did something happen to you on a mission—"

"I said it's not important." Amélie set her teacup down on the coffee table before she got to her feet, approaching the window and looking out over the city. The French woman wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady her breathing. She didn't want to talk about what had happened at Talon, she just wanted to forget…

"I'm sorry for whatever happened to you," she heard Lena say. "And I'm sorry if I pried too much. I have a bad habit of not knowing when to shut my mouth." There was the sound of her teacup being set down, followed by, "Thank you for inviting me up, and for the tea."

 _Is this how my life is going to be? Am I going to push everyone away for asking about an anomaly?_

Amélie looked down at her blue-tinged hands as she listened to Lena starting for the door.

 _I have to move past this… I have to try._

"Wait," Amélie said, turning back to face the brunette. "What happened to me… that wound is still fresh, you understand?"

Lena nodded. "Yeah, I get it."

"Please, stay. I… I really do enjoy your company. It has been some time since I have been able to talk to someone who doesn't treat me like I might fall apart any moment."

Lena smiled slightly as she made her way back to the couch. "Never got that impression from you, luv, 'specially not after what you did at the pub. I mean, you could step on me and I'd probably say thanks."

Amélie let out a short laugh, settling on the couch again. "Don't give me ideas, _cherie_."


	21. Chapter 21

Lena let out a sigh as she exited the Hoof and Haunch, though her expression immediately lit up upon seeing Amélie. "Amélie! What are you doing 'ere?"

"I came to give you a ride this time," Amélie replied, straightening up from where she'd been leaning against a motorcycle. It had been about a week since their tea at Amélie's apartment, and the two had seen each other a few times since. The sniper honestly had to admit that she was surprised at how much she enjoyed Lena's company; at first she had thought it was only because she missed the human contact, but as she got to know Lena more, she was finding that she truly had an interest in the brunette.

 _A genuine interest in a British woman; Gerard will never let me hear the end of this._

"Wow, is that yours?" Lena approached the bike, looking it over. "You know how to ride one of these?"

" _Oui_." Amélie got on the bike before she held a helmet out to the brunette. "Are you going to keep asking questions or are you going to join me?"

"Yeah!" Lena took the helmet and put it on, climbing onto the bike behind the French woman. Amélie felt Lena wrap her arms around her, and she was glad her helmet currently concealed her face. She had told Gerard she had no intentions regarding Lena, but as she spent more time with the brunette, she was wondering just how true that was. The French woman brought the bike to life and started down the street, feeling Lena cling to her tighter.

Once they were outside of King's Row, Amélie was able to increase their speed, taking them further out of the city. Eventually they reached a secluded area looking out over the water, and Lena removed her helmet as she dismounted.

"That was amazin' luv! Think you could teach me 'ow to ride one of them?" Lena asked, looking back at the French woman.

"Perhaps," Amélie replied after removing her own helmet; she didn't mention that Lena on a motorcycle would most likely end in the emergency room. The sniper approached the brunette, who had jumped onto a rock and settled there.

"I love this city," Lena said, a smile on her face as she looked out across the water towards London. "Lived 'ere my whole life, and I can't imagine being anywhere else."

"Yes, that is how I felt about Paris," Amélie said, leaning against the rock. "Sometimes I consider just giving up my life with Overwatch and returning home… I used to be a dancer, before I met Gerard."

"Oh? What kind of dancin'?"

"Ballet." The sniper let out a sigh as the memories washed over her. "I do not regret marrying Gerard, but there are times where I miss that life so deeply…" Amélie let out another sigh, looking back at the brunette. "Sorry, I know you did not ask to hear about my woes."

"No, it's fine luv."

Silence passed between them, and Amélie found herself leaning towards the brunette. Lena was leaning in as well, though at the last moment, the brunette seemed to catch herself.

"W-wait!" Lena quickly moved away from the French woman, which resulted in her falling off the rock. She quickly got to her feet, looking rather flustered.

"What's wrong?" Amélie wondered if she had read the signs wrong; maybe Lena wasn't interested in her. Maybe the brunette wasn't even interested in women.

"I just—I know you're married, and as much as I like you, I won't interfere in anyone else's relationship. I do not cheat, and I do not help anyone else cheat."

"Ah, I see I forgot to mention something important," Amélie said with a slight smile. "It is true, I am married, but Gerard and I have an open marriage."

"Whuzzat now?"

"Don't misunderstand, we do love each other, but he enjoys the company of men as much as I enjoy the company of women."

"So you both just… sleep with other people?"

Amélie made a face. "I take offense to that. Our open marriage is not an excuse to sleep with anyone we might find attractive. It's a chance to form another meaningful relationship with someone."

Lena paused for a moment, though it still didn't seem like she quite understood. "You mean me?"

"Yes, I mean you," Amélie said with a slight smile. "I'm not quite sure how you managed it, being quite British and rather short—"

"I'm not that short!"

Amélie placed a hand on Lena's head gently. "But I understand if you do not wish to continue further. You cannot have me exclusively to yourself, which can be off-putting."

Lena was quiet for a few moments before she said, "Can… can we try that snog and I can make up my mind after?"

Amélie gave her a look. "Trying to get a free kiss out of me, _cherie_?"

"Well, you were gonna snog me earlier, weren't you?" Lena paused a moment before she added, "That is what you were trying to do, right? That's what it looked like you were trying to do anyway."

"If you want any sort of kiss, you need to move a bit closer."

Lena approached the French woman, looking a little uncertain. "So how does this work? Should I keep my eyes open, or close 'em, or—"

"Hush," Amélie said before she pulled the brunette in, kissing her deeply. Lena seemed to tense up at first before she quickly relaxed into it, her hand moving to rest on Amélie's arm gently. The French woman soon pulled away, studying Lena's face. "Thoughts, _cherie_?"

Lena seemed to be struggling to find words, and she finally managed to get out, "I… yeah…"

Amélie smiled at that. "Does that mean you enjoyed it?"

Lena nodded, still looking as though she didn't trust her voice.

"Would you like to do that again?"

Lena nodded again before her lips met Amélie's, and the French woman pulled her closer, lifting Lena a bit to compensate for the height difference.

-/-/-/-

Amélie paused to gauge Lena's reaction, noticing that the brunette had been very quiet. "Lena?"

Tracer looked up at sniper, trying to process everything that Amélie had told her. This woman… they had been in some sort of relationship… Talon had forced her to forget so much, and this was just what Amélie knew.

"My family…?" Tracer asked after a minute or so, not entirely sure how to fully express what she wanted to know.

Amélie's expression softened a bit, and she shook her head. "You were too young to really remember anything, as you said before. It never came up again after that… it seemed too painful a subject for you, so I avoided it."

Tracer nodded, disappointed but not surprised. Everything else had been taken from her, so why not any fleeting memories of her family too? "Keep going…"

Amélie glanced at the clock before she said, "I would, but I have to go meet with Dr. Ziegler." She paused before she added, "I suppose we need to find someone to watch you while I'm with her."

* * *

"Why do I have to watch her?"

"You're the only one available; if you don't then we'll have to lock her up again, and that will only agitate her. We'll lose any progress we've made."

Fareeha let out a sigh, crossing her arms as she between Angela and Lena. "I don't have time to babysit, Brigitte will be here soon and we have work to do. Why can't you ask Jesse—"

"Fareeha, please, it's only for an hour."

The younger Amari still didn't look convinced. "She attacked my mother; she could have killed her."

"She didn't know what she was doing—"

"This isn't your fault, you know. You're not responsible for Moira's actions—"

"Please don't." Angela let out a sigh, rubbing her eyes. "Listen, Amélie is waiting for me; please, Fareeha?"

Fareeha wanted to protest; she wasn't a babysitter, after all. Why should she be stuck with this former assassin? But Angela looked so tired, and this obviously mattered to her; what else could the younger Amari do?

"Fine, I'll watch her," Fareeha found herself saying.

Angela pushed herself up on her toes, pressing a kiss to Fareeha's cheek. "Thank you," she said, offering her a smile. "She shouldn't give you any trouble; just make sure she doesn't start scratching at herself. She's been trying to bite through the bandages on her arms, so just stop her if you see that." The blonde turned to Lena before she said, "I'm leaving you with Fareeha now; as soon as Amélie's session is finished, she'll come back for you. Behave yourself; do you understand?"

Lena nodded, though she wished she understood just what exactly "behave yourself" entailed.

"Good." Angela gave her a smile before she left the two alone; the doctor could only hope that everything would go all right.

Silence passed between the two, and Tracer turned her attention to Fareeha, who still didn't look entirely happy, despite having agreed to this.

"Lena, is it?" Fareeha finally said.

Tracer shrugged; Lena was what they kept calling her, and she knew that it was the person she had once been.

"Well, Lena, I'm only doing this because Angela asked me to; if I had my choice, you'd still be locked up. The woman you attacked in King's Row was my mother; you could have killed her. I admit, Amélie should have stopped you earlier, but that's not the issue here."

"… Sorry…" Tracer knew that was what she was supposed to say, but it was hard to truly mean it. She had done as she was told, she had attacked Overwatch on sight. Even now, it was hard to fully trust anyone here, and Tracer once again found herself wondering if Talon was ever planning on coming back for her.

"It's hard to believe that apology is sincere," Fareeha said, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Silence.

"Well I have work to do, so just sit over there and don't touch anything," the younger Amari added before walked over to where a blue suit was hanging on metal hooks.

Tracer approached as well, the blue suit more interesting than just sitting down. She reached a hand out to touch the chest plate, but Fareeha quickly smacked it away.

"I just told you not to touch anything," the younger Amari said.

Tracer was inclined to let out a growl, but she remembered Angela's words (along with her painful ear flicks); she was supposed to be practicing using her voice again. According to Amélie's story, she had been quite the chatterbox, which Tracer found almost impossible to believe considering her current state.

 _Talon couldn't even leave me with that…_

"What is it?" Tracer managed to get out.

"It's my rocket suit," Fareeha replied, as if that explained everything.

"Rocket suit?"

"I wear it on missions. It lets me patrol and fight from the sky." Fareeha was being very cagey, and Tracer had a feeling that it was because of her association with Talon.

"Fareeha?" A new voice called through the workshop, and Tracer turned towards it.

"Yeah, I'm here," the younger Amari called back.

A redheaded woman soon approached, setting down the toolbox she was carrying. Her gaze fell on Tracer, and her brow furrowed slightly. "We have company today?"

"Angela has me babysitting."

The woman offered her hand to Tracer as she said, "Brigitte Lindholm."

Tracer wasn't quite sure what this woman wanted, or what she was supposed to do with the offered hand.

After a few moments of silence, Brigitte withdrew her hand. "Is she okay? Does she not speak English?"

"She does; her name is Lena. You'll have to excuse her odd behavior; until recently she was an assassin for Talon. They sent her here to try and kill us, and now Angela believes she can be rehabilitated."

"O-oh." Whatever Brigitte had been expecting, it obviously wasn't that. She looked at Tracer again before she said, "Isn't she a bit… short to be an assassin?"

Fareeha let out a short laugh. "Don't be fooled; she's out of her armor right now. Trust me, when you see her coming at you with those red blades, you're not thinking about her height."

Brigitte nodded before she approached the rocket suit. "So what did you say the problem was?"

"I can't seem to get full power from the thrusters," Fareeha replied.

"Well did you fly into a wall again?"

"I never flew into a wall!"

"Mmm, I heard differently from several witnesses."

Tracer had no idea what the two were talking about as she watched them, and it occurred to her that perhaps this was what friendship looked like. In Talon, Moira seemed only to tolerate Sombra and Reaper, but Fareeha and Brigitte… they genuinely seemed to enjoy each other's company. They were laughing as their conversation went back and forth, and Tracer's mind wandered back to everything Amélie had told her so far.

 _I used to be that way… we used to have that connection…_

Tracer watched the two work on the rocket suit for the better part of the hour, and even Fareeha was surprised at how quiet and still the brunette was.

"She's been really docile this whole time," Brigitte said, looking back at Fareeha. "She hasn't even moved."

"Yeah; I have to admit, I'm impressed," the younger Amari said. "All right, let's test the thrusters and see how they work."

Brigitte nodded, picking up the remote they had hooked up to the suit and pressing one of the buttons. The thrusters came to life for a few seconds before suddenly backfiring, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

The sound had Tracer on her feet in an instant, her muscles tense. Her instincts were telling her to be ready to fight, even without her suit and blades.

"Lena, no, it's okay—" Fareeha started upon seeing the brunette on her feet, but she was interrupted by a second backfire, this one sending out a shower of sparks.

Tracer let out a low growl, blinking forward and striking the suit. Her hands immediately stung afterwards, but the pain was almost welcome. She made to strike again, but Fareeha grabbed her roughly and shoved her up against the nearby wall. The brunette's head struck the wall, and for a brief moment, her vision swam.

"Calm down!" the younger Amari almost yelled.

Tracer struggled against Fareeha's hold, trying to focus through the pain in her head as she scratched at the strong arms holding her. She should have seen this coming; she had been foolish to let her guard down, to let herself believe that Overwatch was a safe place.

"Fareeha!" Angela was suddenly beside the younger Amari, trying to pull her away. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping her still until she calms down," Fareeha replied.

"Let her go, you're just making her angrier," Amélie said.

Fareeha looked back at the brunette before she released her, letting her drop to the floor. Tracer quickly got to her feet and blinked away from the group, her gaze never leaving them.

"Lena, it's all right," Amélie said, slowly approaching the brunette. "It's just me; you can trust me, remember?"

Tracer honestly didn't know if that was true; Fareeha had turned on her with no warning. How could she know that Amélie wouldn't do the same? After all, according to Fareeha, Amélie had been the one who shot her in King's Row, not to mention the fact that the sniper had admitted to shooting Tracer again when she'd invaded their headquarters.

"Lena?" Amélie was close enough to reach out and touch her now, and the French woman stooped to the brunette's level, genuine concern in her golden eyes.

"Not safe…" Tracer honestly didn't know if she was referring more to her current situation, or her own self.

Amélie's expression softened at that. "I… I know the feeling. I can't promise that this will be the safest place for you, but I can promise that I will do everything in my power to help you. As long as you are with me, I will never let anyone hurt you again."

* * *

" _You have not yet turned over your research; we will be sending someone to pick it up."_

The words replayed themselves over and over in Moira's mind as she strode down the hallway, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails were digging into her flesh. She knew she should have expected this, especially considering how much money Talon had poured into this project, but still… handing her research over to someone else…

Moira reached her lab and turned on the lights, her gaze falling on her workbench. The hours that had gone into this research, the sleepless nights, the trial and error… she had poured her sweat and blood into this project. It was a piece of her now, and to just give it up, to watch someone else take over.

 _I refuse._

Before she could think twice, Moira approached her workbench and swept everything off, watching as it all crashed to the floor. Glass shattered upon impact, the liquids inside staining the papers that soon followed and rendering the words illegible. Moira was aware that she was essentially throwing a temper tantrum, but she didn't much care at the moment. She would rather her research be in pieces at her feet than in the hands of another.


	22. Chapter 22

" _Bon appétit_."

Tracer wasn't entirely sure what that meant, nor was she able to identify the food on the plate in front of her. She watched as Amélie sat across from her, a glass of red liquid in hand. The brunette picked up her fork, poking uncertainly at the food.

Amélie watched Lena as she took a sip from her wine; the brunette had calmed down from her incident earlier, but Amélie was still concerned about her state of mind. Perhaps she had been overconfident before; perhaps Lena was too fragile for her to handle. She had thought because of her previous connection with Lena would help, but now… she didn't want to believe that Lena was too far gone to be saved.

"Is the food not to your liking?" Amélie asked after a few minutes, noticing that Lena had done little more than poke at her food.

Tracer looked up at the French woman before she shrugged. "Don't know what it is."

"Just try it; you've eaten it before, and you liked it."

Tracer looked back down at the food, moving another forkful around before she said, "You said you would tell me more… about us."

Amélie looked down at her own plate before she let out a sigh. "Yes, I did." Honestly, the French woman was wondering if telling Lena about this was doing more harm than good. What did she expect the brunette to do with the information? "Lena… perhaps I have told you enough."

Tracer's brow furrowed. "No…"

"I am afraid telling you all this is just torture for you… telling you about a life you used to have and can't remember."

"No… I want to know…" Tracer wondered what she had done wrong to make Amélie act this way. Was it because of the earlier incident with Fareeha? That hadn't been entirely her fault, and Fareeha had been the one to grab her and pin her to the wall. How was she supposed to react to that? Hearing about her former life was all she had to look forward to in this current shitty version of her life.

"Are you sure—"

"Tell me!" Tracer had driven her fork tines into the table before she realized it, and the dishes shook with the impact. The brunette hadn't been aware that her own voice could be so loud, and for a brief moment, she saw a flicker of fear in Amélie's eyes.

 _People will always be afraid of me… even without the suit._

The realization hit like a harsh slap, and Tracer slowly released her fork, her gaze traveling downwards.

Amélie had never seen Lena lash out like that, not towards her anyway. Even when she had fought those men in the pub where they first met, she hadn't lashed out like this. The French woman had never imagined that she'd be afraid of Lena; Tracer, the weapon Talon had created, yes, but not Lena herself.

"I will tell you once you calm down," Amélie said after she managed to regain herself. "You cannot make demands in such a way, and threatening me would be a very poor choice on your part, let me assure you."

"You'd shoot me again?"

Amélie paused, doing her best to keep her expression neutral before she said, "I have no desire to shoot you again, and the only reason I did so before was to save the lives of my fellow agents."

Tracer looked down at her hands, considering the implications. Amélie had said she didn't want to shoot her, but she hadn't denied that she would if necessary. She claimed she cared for the brunette, but by her own admission, she cared for her fellow Overwatch agents more.

 _If they consider me too big of a threat… will they kill me?_

"Lena?"

Tracer looked up, her fists clenching before she said, "Tell me… please…"

Amélie nodded. "All right; finish your food and we'll go back to my room; I'll continue there."

-/-/-/-

Lena stood uncertainly outside of Amélie's apartment door, bouquet in hand. The kiss (and others that had followed) that she'd shared with Amélie yesterday still hung at the forefront of her mind, though she had to admit she was a bit nervous at being invited over now. Amélie had said that Gerard would be home, and if Lena had any interest in continuing this relationship, she needed to meet him.

The door opened, revealing Amélie dressed in a slouch sweater and a pair of skinny jeans. Lena immediately felt her face go hot, and she knew she was staring, though she couldn't seem to pull her gaze away.

" _Salut_ , Lena."

Amélie's voice finally pulled her back to reality, and Lena forced herself to look up at the French woman's face. "H-hiya." A brief pause before Lena held out the bouquet she was holding. "Oh, uh, these are for you. Hope you like 'em; I wasn't really sure what you'd want, but these seemed nice, yeah?"

" _Merci_ ," Amélie said, taking the bouquet. She took a step back and opened the door wider as she said, "Please come in."

Lena stepped inside, her gaze falling on a dark-haired man sitting on the couch, wine glass in hand. The brunette's mouth suddenly felt very dry, and she swallowed hard as she approached.

Gerard turned his attention to the brunette, setting his glass down and leaning forward as he said, "So you're the woman who wants to sleep with my wife."

"I—what, no—I mean, maybe—but that's not why—" Lena was immediately caught off-guard, and her words tumbled over each other in an attempt to give Gerard an answer.

"Gerard please, don't scare her off, I actually like this one," Amélie said, coming up behind the brunette.

Gerard let out a laugh before he leaned back. "I am only teasing; Lena, is it?"

Lena nodded, still reeling a bit from what Gerard considered "a tease".

"Please, have a seat, make yourself comfortable."

Lena sat in one of the easy chairs, watching Amélie slide onto the couch beside her husband. The brunette began to wonder if this was going to become some sort of interview process; she hadn't prepared for such. What if Gerard didn't like her? Would Amélie cut off contact if Gerard disapproved?

"Dinner should be ready soon; in the meantime, tell me a bit about yourself," Gerard said, picking up his wine glass again.

"Uh, sure; what do you wanna know?"

Gerard shrugged. "Anything; tell me what about Lena Oxton has managed to seduce my wife."

"I have not been seduced," Amélie said, giving her husband a look.

"Look, let me just tell you now: I'm not a fancy person, yeah? I ride a bike around King's Row, I waitress at a restaurant, and sometimes I perform with my band; I can barely afford the apartment I live in. I don't work for Overwatch or anything like that, and I dunno why your wife likes me, so maybe I should just go—"

"Lena, I did not mean to imply that you aren't good enough," Gerard said, looking troubled. "If Amélie likes you, then that is all I need to know. She has very high standards, you know."

"And yet I married you, didn't I?" Amélie said, taking a sip from her wine

Gerard let out a dramatic gasp. "You wound me, _ma belle fleur_."

"You'll get over it."

"Prepare yourself, Lena; this is what you will have to put up with. They call her Widowmaker for a reason."

* * *

Amélie wasn't entirely sure why she was here, sitting in a dive pub. The room was dimly lit, and filled with the cacophony of multiple conversations. Lena's comment about being in a band had not gone unnoticed, and it had taken some investigation, but she had finally managed to track the brunette down. The French woman had a feeling that she looked out of place, and the thought of leaving crossed her mind once again.

The room suddenly began cheering, and Amélie looked up to see a band of three emerging onto the stage: a large woman with short pink hair, a man with dark skin who appeared to be on roller skates, and Lena. Well, if Amélie hadn't met her before, she wasn't sure if she would have recognized Lena, whose spikes were currently snowy white.

The three launched into their first song, and Amélie found herself almost transfixed as Lena performed. She had never suspected that Lena knew how to play the keyboard, nor had she expected the brunette to have such an impressive voice. The sniper took another sip from her wine as she watched, finding herself glad that she had decided to stay.

* * *

"An impressive performance," Amélie said, approaching Lena. She had gone looking for the British woman after the show, soon locating her in a narrow hallway.

"Aw, thanks luv. Didn't expect you to show up."

"Well, I am glad I did." The French woman gently took one of Lena's hair spikes in her hand, letting it slide through her fingers. "The hair color is unexpected."

"Oh, yeah; it washes out easy enough, I jus' use it for performances. Fits better than the brown, yeah? If you don't like it though, I can wash it out—"

"Keep it." Amélie leaned down to kiss Lena deeply, pressing her up against the wall. She braced her hands against the wall, keeping Lena pinned with her body as they kissed. Lena's hands came up to wrap around Amélie, holding the French woman close and enjoying the way her body felt pressed against hers.

The kissing continued for some time, and Lena was sure her trousers had become tighter somehow; it was a feeling she wasn't used to, though she wasn't complaining.

Eventually, they paused in their kissing to catch their breath, and Lena looked up at the French woman, watching golden eyes scan her face.

"Perhaps you would care to take this elsewhere?" Amélie said, gently stroking Lena's face. "My apartment, perhaps?"

Lena paused a moment before she said, "Is… is this for sex?"

"Do you object?"

"N-no, I just… I haven't really gotten to this stage before, yeah? Havin' sex…"

Amélie paused a moment; she had considered the possibility that she might be Lena's first, but actually hearing it out loud… the French woman didn't want to pressure the brunette into anything, no matter how much she liked Lena.

"We don't have to do anything if you do not wish; I want you to be comfortable," Amélie said.

"No, I want to! I jus' thought you should know I'm not experienced…"

"That is all right, _cherie_. We can move at whatever pace you like."

* * *

The apartment was dark when the two women arrived, and once inside, Amélie immediately led Lena to a second bedroom, closing the door behind them.

"Is Gerard here?" Lena asked as Amélie gently pushed her to sit on the bed.

"Most likely," Amélie replied.

Lena stared, the tight feeling returning to her trousers. "We… we're gonna do this with him... here?"

"He isn't going to interrupt." Amélie paused. "Are you not comfortable with that?"

"No, it's fine, I just didn't know if we'd disturb 'im or somethin'."

"Trust me, Gerard is a heavy sleeper." As she removed her shirt, Amélie was reminded of the blue that was still left behind on her arms. She was thankful for the darkness of the room; she wasn't sure how she would explain it to Lena, or what the brunette would think. She had already seen her hands, yes but trying to explain the full extent would be… less than sexual.

"Amélie?"

The French woman looked over at the brunette, who had concern in her features. "I'm all right; just a bit self-conscious, I suppose. Been some time since I had someone to impress."

"Oi, you don't 'ave to be impress me. I think you're bloody gorgeous."

Amélie smiled at that before she moved over the brunette, pressing her down gently as she kissed her deeply. She felt Lena's hands come up to wrap around her, holding her close. The rest of their clothing soon littered the floor, leaving the two exposed to each other, and Lena had to admit that she enjoyed the feeling of Amélie's bare skin against her own.

Eventually Amélie's hand traveled down Lena's bare thigh, and the brunette spread her legs a bit in response to her touch. Amélie slid one finger against Lena's slick entrance, causing the brunette to gasp and cling to the French woman tightly.

"All right, _cherie_?" Amélie asked, carefully studying Lena's face.

"Y-yeah… jus' a new feeling…"

Amélie gently stroked and teased Lena's entrance for a few more minutes, feeling the wetness there grow.

"Wh-what are you doin' luv?" Lena asked, her voice trembling with anticipation.

"Making sure you're prepared and wet enough; I don't want you to experience any pain." Amélie gently probed Lena's entrance before she slid one finger inside, keeping it still so the brunette could adjust.

Lena's back arched at the feeling of Amélie's finger sliding inside her, and she clung to the sniper tightly.

"Lena?"

"F-feels good…" After a few more moments, Lena began moving her hips a bit, and Amélie took that as a sign to begin moving her finger inside her.

From where she held herself above Lena, Amélie admired the brunette. Her face was flushed in a way that accentuated her freckles, and that flush spread down to her chest. Her body was arched up towards Amélie, pressing and needy, and it occurred to the French woman that Lena had no idea just how many people would kill for a view like this in their beds.

Every so often, Amélie would check in with her companion, and Lena would nod frantically, indicating that she was okay.

The brunette had always suspected that she enjoyed being dominated, but with Amélie… Lena was almost embarrassed at just how quickly the French woman had her begging. Every time she began to build towards her climax, Amélie would let her get closer and then pull away, smirking at her frustrated and pleading noises. After the third time, Lena felt as though she would explode.

"Amélie, please!" she almost shouted, forgetting that they weren't alone in the apartment.

Lena was so cute when she was begging; her quick breathing, her desperate gaze, the thin layer of sweat covering her body. Amélie almost wanted to keep her in that state perpetually, but the French woman decided it was time to take pity on the brunette.

"You would like to peak, _cherie_?" Amélie purred, beginning to move her fingers against the spot that made Lena writhe underneath her.

"Yes!" Lena managed to gasp, pressing her hips to Amélie's fingers. She wasn't sure what the French woman was hitting, but she knew that she didn't want it to stop. She felt herself beginning to build again, but this time, Amélie didn't stop. Her fingers continued pressing against that spot, and Lena could feel her lower muscles clenching tightly.

Suddenly, Lena felt a surge of liquid from that spot, and the brunette internally panicked; had she just wet herself? Should she have warned Amélie? The hot sting of embarrassment overcame the pleasure that had been building in her core, and she covered her face with her hands.

"Lena?" There was concern in Amélie's voice, and her fingers paused in their moving.

Lena's mumbled some unintelligible response, which was muffled by her hands.

"Lena, I need you to tell me if you're all right." Amélie feared that maybe she'd gone too far, or crossed some line her companion wasn't ready for.

"I can't tell if I just pissed myself…" Lena repeated, lowering her hands and looking up at Amélie. Her face felt as though it were on fire, and she half expected the French woman to toss her out of the bed right then and there.

Amélie smiled slightly before she said, "You didn't wet yourself; rather, you didn't wet yourself with urine. You squirted, Lena."

"… Why are you saying that like it's a good thing?" It honestly didn't sound better than pissing herself, and it certainly did nothing to lessen her embarrassment.

"It's perfectly normal; it just means I was hitting something that your body liked. Was it uncomfortable for you?"

"I mean… not while it was happening… it felt really good, like a release of pressure, but now that I'm laying in this cold puddle…"

Amélie laughed before she sat up. "I'll get a towel, give me a moment." She stood and went over to the bathroom, pulling a towel from the cupboard (and feeling Lena's eyes on her naked body the whole time). She returned and set the towel over the wet spot before she moved over the brunette again. "Now, where were we?"

* * *

When the heat between them finally passed, Lena was left lying on the bed, her chest heaving slightly as she tried to catch her breath. Amélie seemed only slightly winded, and she glanced over at the brunette, a smile playing across her lips.

"Are you all right, _cherie_?" the French woman asked, shifting to face her companion.

"Yeah… great actually, luv," Lena replied, giving Amélie one of those crooked grins that always made the French woman feel warm inside. The brunette sat up after a few more moments, scratching the back of her head before she slid her legs over the edge of the bed. "Guess I should get dressed and go before the tube closes."

Amélie frowned slightly. "You are not staying?"

Lena didn't admit how much she wanted to; staying in bed with Amélie sounded like heaven, much preferable than going back to her empty apartment, but she had to remember that Amélie was married.

"I should let you return to Gerard; don't want to be selfish and deprive 'im of his wife, you know—" Lena was cut off by an arm around her waist, and she was pulled back towards the French woman.

"Stay," Amélie said, her voice soft enough that it wasn't a command, but more of a request.

Lena smiled slightly before she lay back down, feeling Amélie pull her back so that their bodies were pressed close together. "Whatcha doin' luv?"

"Admiring how well our bodies fit together," Amélie replied, pressing a few kisses to Lena's neck. "Now no more talking; sleep."

-/-/-/-

Tracer's mind was reeling as she tried to process everything Amélie had told her. Their relationship… it had been more involved than Tracer had realized, to the point that they had had… what had Amélie called it, sex? Whatever it was, it had obviously meant quite a bit to both of them.

"So I… loved you?" Tracer said, though the word sounded foreign to her, and she wasn't even sure if it was right.

That stopped Amélie cold. Those words… they had never come up when she and Lena were together, not out loud anyway. To hear them now for the first time when Lena couldn't even remember anything… it was too much.

"I must use the restroom," Amélie said quickly before she got to her feet, making her way to the bathroom. The door slid shut behind her, and Amélie pressed a hand over her mouth tightly to stifle any noises that threatened to come out. She wanted to scream, to find Talon and make them pay for putting them both through this.

 _What did we do to deserve this?_


	23. Chapter 23

"Have you noticed our doctor has been… distant lately?"

Reaper let out a grunt as he took a sip from his coffee (which was always a bit unsettling to see; Sombra didn't know if she'd ever get used to it). "How is that any different than usual?"

Sombra made a face. "Yes, I realize she is generally distant to us, but you honestly haven't noticed that it's been worse than usual?"

Reaper let out a noncommittal noise, not sounding terribly disturbed or interested.

The hacker let out an irritated sigh before she stood. "Forget it," she said, muttering in Spanish under her breath as she strode from the room. "I suppose if you want something done, you must do it yourself."

* * *

Tracer looked around the doctor's office as she settled into the chair across from Angela; it contained far more books than Moira's room had, and there were several frames on the walls.

"Lena."

Tracer turned her attention to the blonde, who had an open notebook in her lap.

"You've been here for a few days now, and I know you can talk. The others… they have been pressing for an interrogation. Do you understand what that means?"

Tracer had a vague notion of what that meant, and she said, "They want answers… about Talon."

Angela had to admit, Lena seemed to understand a bit more than she gave the brunette credit for. "Yes; your involvement with Talon and their operations is significant, even if it was against your will." The blonde let out a sigh. "Not to mention you assassinated the leader of the Shambali, as well as massacred a dozen people including Antonio Bartalotti—"

"He was bad."

"So that gave you the right to kill him?" Angela's tone was sharp and cold. "What about Mondatta, what did he do to deserve death?"

Tracer shifted a bit; her memories from those times mainly consisted of pain. "Didn't have a choice…" Even if she knew how to fully explain herself, Tracer knew Angela wouldn't understand.

Angela let out a short sigh; she had been anticipating that this session wouldn't be easy, much like trying to get through to Amélie during those first sessions. "I know; this wasn't your choice. Shortly after you arrived, Moira sent me your file. Every bit of research and everything she did to you… so I know what you've been through."

Tracer perked up at the mention of the geneticist. "You talked to Moira?"

"No; she merely sent the files to me. We didn't speak."

"Oh…"

Angela could see the disappointment in Lena's features, and she worried her bottom lip a bit. It was apparent to her now that Lena had formed some sort of connection to the redhead, which was only marginally surprising. There had been a time when Angela had had her own connection to the redhead. If she was being honest with herself, she had questions about the geneticist, including what exactly Moira had told Lena about her.

 _Focus; this is about Lena._

"How have you been adjusting?" Angela asked. She gestured to the bandages on Lena's arms before she added, "Still scratching yourself?"

Tracer shrugged. "Trying not to." She didn't add that Amélie had caught her biting at the skin of her wrists after managing to get through the bandages.

"I suppose you're still not used to being out of your suit. Can you tell me what it's like? How do you feel?"

Tracer paused, looking as though she were trying to find the right words. "Feels like… crawling. My skin doesn't feel right…"

"I see. Unfortunately there isn't much we can do for you in that regard; you'll just have to wait it out."

Wait it out. That meant continuing to live with this feeling. "How long?"

"I don't know."

* * *

Tracer let out a sigh from where she was sitting; she had been left with Fareeha again, but the younger Amari was working with paper this time, which was far less exciting than her rocket suit. The brunette shifted and let out a yawn; she had just considered a nap when something fluttered into her lap. Tracer's brow furrowed, and she picked the piece of paper up, realizing it was directions of some kind. The brunette glanced up at Fareeha, who seemed to into her work to be paying attention; she wouldn't notice if Tracer slipped away. Tracer got to her feet and followed the directions, which led her down a hallway and around a corner to a secluded room. Upon reaching it, the door slid shut behind her and a familiar form suddenly materialized in front of her.

"Sombra!" The brunette threw herself at the hacker in a hug, catching her off guard. It was unexpected for them both, but Tracer honestly was relieved to see someone familiar.

"Easy _querida_ , it's just me," Sombra said, though she didn't make any move to separate herself from Tracer.

Tracer pulled away after a few more moments, taking a step back before she said, "Why are you here?"

"To check up on you, make sure these Overwatch people are treating you right." Sombra paused before she added, "Your speech has certainly improved. Much easier than trying to decipher those noises you made."

"Angela makes me practice."

"Ah yes, the good Dr. Ziegler." Sombra smiled slightly before she said, "And your accelerator, it has been functioning correctly?"

"It's fine…" The mention of her accelerator brought a new question to the forefront of Tracer's mind, one she could articulate now. "Why did you put it in me? The accelerator…"

Sombra's smile faded at that. "That wasn't my decision."

"Who did it?"

"I think you know."

Yes, Tracer supposed she did. Moira had been the driving force behind her creation, after all. However, that still didn't answer the question of why she had felt the need to surgically implant the device inside Tracer.

"Am I going back soon?" Tracer asked; that was the main concern on her mind.

Sombra's brow furrowed slightly. "Going back where?"

"To Talon."

The hacker's expression fell at that. "Oh… um, I didn't come to bring you back."

"Soon then?"

Sombra looked uncomfortable, muttering under her breath in Spanish before she said, "Tracer… we can't bring you back."

Tracer didn't like where this was headed. "Why? Because I didn't finish my mission?" The brunette could feel herself beginning to lose control, and talking suddenly seemed all the more challenging. "They took—my suit—I can't—"

"Easy, easy, this isn't because of your so-called mission," Sombra said, placing a hand on the brunette's arm. "I don't know why I have to be the one to do this… look, that mission you were assigned was fake."

"Fake?"

"Moira just told you that so this would all play out convincingly."

The room suddenly felt as though it didn't have enough air, and Tracer was acutely aware of the sound of her own breathing. They had lied to her; they had sent her here with no intention of her accomplishing the mission.

 _They abandoned me… why? What did I do wrong?_

"Tracer—"

Her instincts took over, and with a feral noise, Tracer blinked forward, tackling Sombra to the floor. She brought her arm back as if to strike, but froze at the feeling of Sombra's gun pressed to her forehead.

"I would dare say you're a friend, but don't think I won't hesitate to kill you," Sombra said, her voice low and calm.

Tracer held her arm in mid-air for a few more moments before she slowly lowered it, her anger still boiling. Through her clenched teeth, she managed to get out, "Why?"

"If you want to continue this conversation like civilized people, you need to let me up."

Tracer got off the hacker, watching her as she got to her feet.

"Look, I get it, you feel like we just dumped you here, but Moira did this to keep you safe," Sombra said, brushing herself off.

"From what?"

"What do you think? From Talon; remember we stopped Vialli from returning, but we couldn't stop Arsenic. She told the council all about you, and Moira knew they would want to take you away. Is that what you would have preferred, to be taken away and put in Arsenic's care permanently?"

The memories associated with that name still felt like a slap, and Tracer shook her head. "But Overwatch…"

"It's the safest place for you right now." Sombra let out a sigh upon seeing the dejected look on Tracer's face, and she placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know it's disappointing, but just because we can't get you now doesn't mean you'll be stuck here forever."

"Lena!"

Both women looked up at the call, and Tracer recognized Fareeha's voice. "She's looking for me…"

"Then you better go before you get into trouble," Sombra said. With a brief waggle of her fingers, the hacker disappeared, and Tracer let out a sigh.

"Lena, there you are!"

Tracer turned to see Fareeha approaching, looking none too pleased.

"You can't just wander off like that, you know Angela would have my head if she came back and you were gone."

"Sorry…"

* * *

"Do you know why you're here?"

Tracer looked at the man sitting across from her, Commander Morrison he had said. This was the interrogation Angela had mentioned; apparently Overwatch had grown impatient with waiting. The blonde doctor was present as well, though Tracer wasn't sure whose side she was on.

"Talon," Tracer said; she had decided early on that she would answer Commander Morrison's questions as simply as possible. No need to tell him more about Talon than he needed to know.

"Yes, your association with Talon is part of this." Commander Morrison paused a moment before he said, "You attacked our base and killed two of our agents. Now, you didn't plan that on your own; I know you're just the weapon. Tell me who sent you here."

Tracer clenched her fists, but didn't respond. She wasn't about to give up Moira, even if the geneticist had lied to her.

"I know you can understand me, and that you can speak. I'll ask again; who sent you here?"

"Talon."

Commander Morrison's gaze narrowed slightly. "Who in Talon?"

Tracer remained silent, fixing the commander with a cold stare.

"Is this how you're going to be, because we can make things very difficult for you—"

"Try." There was nothing he could to do her that was worse than what she had already been through.

Commander Morrison paused a moment before he opened the file in front of him, pulling out a picture and sliding it in front of Tracer. "Antonio Bartalotti; do you recall him? You massacred him and a dozen of his men."

Tracer looked down at the photograph, the bloody scene looking back at her.

 _There was just one figure left now. Tracer let out another yell before she began to charge towards him, her blades scraping against the floor. She tackled him to the floor before she began to attack him relentlessly with her blades, barely registering the blood that spattered onto her face and armor._

 _Just make the pain go away._

"He was bad," Tracer said, echoing her earlier words with Dr. Ziegler.

"Did someone send you to kill him?"

Tracer clenched her fists tightly, but didn't reply.

Commander Morrison pulled out another photo and set it on front of her, this one of Mondatta's broken body lying on the ground. "Who sent you to kill Mondatta? Why did Talon want him dead?"

Tracer shook her head; they had never told her why. She was only given a target; she had never stopped to consider why.

Commander Morrison had obviously grown tired with her silence, and he pulled out two more photos, tossing them in front of her. "You did this, didn't you?"

"Jack—" Angela started, concern in her voice, but Commander Morrison put a hand up, stopping the doctor.

Tracer looked down at the photographs in question; one showed a dead man on the floor, and the other was of a red-haired woman missing a hand.

"The Donovans were attacked in their home by a figure in dark armor with red blades, and the only reason we know this is because their daughter survived. She said the assassin looked like it was going to attack her, but just stopped and left. That was you, wasn't it?"

 _Emily was cowering on the floor, pressed up against the wall and trembling. Tracer's blade hung in midair as she struggled with the decision over whether to kill the redhead or not because deep down, she knew this was wrong._

"Yes…" Tracer admitted.

"Why did you kill the Donovans and spare their daughter?"

Tracer shook her head; it was a question she truly couldn't answer.

"Were you ordered to leave her alive?"

"No…"

"Did Talon intend to use her as leverage later?" Commander Morrison's eyes narrowed. "Or was this just some sick game of yours, some sort of psychological torment—"

"Stop!" Tracer shoved all the photographs off the table, her clenched fists trembling slightly.

"You are responsible for all these deaths, and now you are going to answer for it. You don't get to ask to stop."

"I didn't ask to made this way," Tracer growled, locking her cold gaze with Commander Morrison's again.

"Then why are you protecting the people who did this to you?" Commander Morrison almost shouted, hitting the table with his closed fist. "If Talon forced you to kill all these people, why won't you give them up?"

Tracer let out a feral noise as she got to her feet, knocking her chair over in the process. She was tired of these questions, tired of being faced with the horrible things she had been forced to do.

"Lena," Angela said sternly, moving to place a hand on the brunette's shoulder. Her grip appeared gentle, but it was firm, and Tracer knew the doctor was attempting to stop whatever attack she might have planned. "I think we're done for now."

"Angela—"

"Enough Jack. You're not going to get what you want out of her."

* * *

Lena was on edge, Amélie could tell that much. She didn't know what exactly had occurred during her interrogation, but she could imagine that hadn't been anything good. The brunette was fidgeting and picking at the bandages on her arms, and when that proved fruitless, she had transitioned to biting at the skin near her nail beds.

"Lena," Amélie said gently, placing a hand over the brunette's and pushing it away from her mouth.

Lena let out a noise of protest, her dark eyes focusing on the sniper.

"I'm going to make us some lunch, and then we can head somewhere to help you calm down; perhaps the training course? It would be space for you to move around."

Lena didn't reply, her gaze remaining locked on the French woman.

"Just sit right here," Amélie said, guiding the brunette to a chair. The French woman turned to begin preparing lunch, though her mind was heavily troubled. At their last session, Angela had suggested that perhaps Amélie had overestimated herself in taking on care of Lena. Perhaps she had; perhaps she had been too hopeful that the brunette would remember her and their connection, and Amélie had to wonder who she was really trying to help. Everything she had told Lena was information she herself knew, and it did nothing to answer the question of what had actually happened to the brunette.

"Well, look who it is; and how is Talon's little assassin?"

That broke her. Tracer honestly couldn't explain why; perhaps it was the final straw. Today hadn't exactly been the easiest, what with Sombra revealing the truth and Commander Morrison interrogating her. The quip probably hadn't been meant as offensive, but for Tracer, it was too much.

With a feral yell, the brunette launched herself at McCree, bringing him to the floor. Amélie quickly turned at the sound, her gaze falling on the two struggling, with McCree mainly trying to keep Lena from landing blows to his face and head.

"Lena, stop!" Amélie attempted to seize the brunette, but Lena jerked her arm back, her elbow harshly catching the sniper in the nose and forcing her back.

A sudden gunshot rang out, followed by a spurt of blood, and Lena's hand flew to her right shoulder. McCree took the opportunity and forced her off of him before he quickly got to his feet as Angela approached, blaster still drawn.

"Thanks Doc—"

"What did you do to agitate her?" Angela asked sharply.

"Nothin', she just went off on me!"

Angela gave him a look that said she hardly believed that, and she approached Lena, who was examining the blood currently staining her palm. "Lena."

Tracer looked up at the doctor, her gaze falling on her blaster. As far as she could recall, she had never been shot before, not outside of her suit. It hurt, of course, but what scared her was the fact that the pain was almost welcome.

 _This is not normal… this is not how normal people live._

"Get up; I need to treat your wound," Angela said, finally holstering her blaster.

"Leave it…"

"I can't, it might get infected or you could lose too much blood—"

"Maybe that would be better…"

Angela's brow furrowed at that. This was a new, albeit chilling, development; Lena had never expressed a want to die, or that she even understood the concept of letting oneself die. "Why would you think that?"

Tracer looked up at the doctor, and for a moment, it was like looking up at Moira. A person who acted as though they wanted to help, but the second Tracer stepped out of line, they immediately used to pain to bring her back.

 _I will always be under someone's control._

* * *

"There, that should heal up quickly."

Tracer looked down at the bandages on her shoulder, and she didn't respond as she put her shirt back on. "Is Amélie okay?"

Angela paused at that; she couldn't recall a time where Lena seemed concerned about someone else. Perhaps the French woman had been making progress with her after all. "Yes, she's fine, just a bloody nose. I imagine it will be sore for a bit though."

Tracer nodded; she hadn't meant to hurt Amélie. The sniper was the only person who seemed to truly care about her, not to mention the fact that they had had some sort of relationship before.

A knock on the door caught their attention, and both women looked up to see someone standing in the doorway.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were busy; Commander Morrison sent me to find you, Dr. Ziegler."

"Emily, what… what are you doing here?"

Tracer's stomach had knotted tightly at the sight of the young woman, something she wasn't even aware she could feel anymore. This was _the_ Emily, the one she had spared that horrible night when Arsenic had forced her to kill Moira's family. The redhead's gaze fell on her, and Tracer knew that any second, the screaming would start. The repulsion, the disgust, the cries for her death.

None of that came.

"Hello, I'm Emily," the redhead said, offering Tracer a smile as she approached.

She was… smiling at her. Tracer honestly didn't know how to respond to this, and she felt Angela prod her gently.

"Don't be rude; tell her your name," the blonde said.

Her name… the person she was supposed to be, not the one she had been made into. "L-Lena…"

"Nice to meet you."

Tracer's brow furrowed, and it occurred to her then that Emily had never seen her face. The monster that had killed her family hid behind a mask and a suit; it was Tracer who had done it, not Lena. Tracer was the mindless killer, Tracer was the one who tore families apart, Tracer was the one who looked at photographs and took the lives of the people in them.

 _Except we are the same person. Tracer is me, no matter how hard I try to be just Lena._


	24. Chapter 24

"You did this, didn't you?"

"Did what?" Jack said, not looking up from whatever he was working on.

Angela's eyes narrowed, and she pulled the files away, forcing him to look up at her. "You brought Emily here."

"She wanted to come here; she asked for you specifically—"

"You could have just told me that; instead you blindsided all of us by bringing her here. You're not watching out for her, you want Lena to face her."

Jack blinked, but looked otherwise undisturbed. "Emily lost her family in a single night, and that woman is responsible. If Emily finds out the truth, then I think she is owed that."

Angela shook her head. "This is going to do… I don't even know what to Lena's psyche. This will be torture for her, you do know that?"

"I suppose she's finally being punished then."

"Jack—"

"She's a killer, Angela! Don't forget, we almost lost Ana because of her! You all want to treat her like a child, but she needs to face the consequences of her actions."

"This could break her!" Angela shook her head, but she knew there was no point in arguing with the commander. "And if that happens, you will have to live with the consequences. I hope you can."

* * *

"So what do you do for Overwatch?"

Lena (she had to remember that, she was Lena now, no more Tracer) looked down at her hands, trying to best decide how to answer that question. "I… just got here…"

"Oh, so you're like a new trainee then?"

"Something like that," Amélie said from where she was watching the two. When Emily had been introduced to her, the French woman didn't initially understand why Angela looked so uncomfortable. And then the doctor had pulled Amélie aside and told her the short version, along with the strict order that Lena and Emily could not be left alone together.

Emily took a sip from her coffee before she said, "What happened to your arms?"

Lena looked down at the bandages, touching them lightly. She wasn't entirely sure how to explain it; honestly, having her voice back seemed like a curse as she sat across from the redhead. How could she ever tell Emily that she was the reason both of her parents were dead?

"Training accident," Amélie supplied. "You'll have to excuse Lena's behavior; she has been through a lot."

Emily nodded with a sigh. "I know how that feels…"

Lena's stomach tightened at that, and she clenched her fingers tightly. She was the reason for that; she was responsible for Emily's suffering.

Emily paused a moment before she said, "You know, I just can't shake this feeling that I've seen you somewhere before."

Lena felt her heart skip a beat at that, and she had to fight the urge to blink away and hide under the nearest object. "N-no…"

"I have though… oh, I remember! You used to sing, right?" Emily pulled her phone from her pocket, typing for a few moments before she set it sideways on the table. "Your hair is white here, but that's you, right?"

Lena looked down at the video currently playing, and she gently pulled the phone closer. It certainly did look like her, standing at the keyboard and singing, and Amélie had told her that she performed before. And that song… she knew it, somehow. Not the words, but the tune…

"You're pretty good; do you still sing?" Emily asked.

It was too much; Lena had reached her limit. "I…" She looked up at Amélie, and the French woman could see the desperate pleading in her eyes.

"Are you going to be staying with us long, Emily?" Amélie asked, getting to her feet. "Have you been set up with a room yet?"

The redhead seemed caught off guard by the sudden change in subject, but she said, "I'm not sure how long I'll be staying. I don't have anywhere else to go honestly…"

"Well, let's find a room for you then."

Emily got to her feet and followed the sniper from the room, Lena trailing after them. This was a different kind of pain; she was used to the physical kind, but this… this was so much worse. Was this what guilt felt like? Lena hated it; she hated it with every fiber of her being.

 _I would rather stay in that suit forever than feel this…_

"Where did you say you were from?" Amélie asked as they walked. She knew she needed to keep Emily's attention away from Lena; the brunette was obviously overwhelmed right now.

"Ireland."

"That was one place my husband and I never managed to get to, but I have heard it is beautiful."

Emily nodded, though her expression was sad. "It was… though I'm sure you and your husband would still enjoy it."

"Yes, I'm sure he would have. My husband… he was killed several months ago."

Emily touched the sniper's arm gently. "I'm sorry… it's horrible isn't it? To have your entire world just shattered in an instant…" The redhead paused for a moment before she added, "I assume you all know what happened to my parents…"

"Yes; we're very sorry for your loss."

"I keep asking myself why… that horrible night just keeps playing over and over in my mind. That thing, whatever it was… it killed my parents without a second thought, but then it just… let me go. I'll never forget that image; those red blades and its glowing eyes—"

Lena let out a choked noise of distress, and Emily stopped, looking back at her. "Are you okay?"

No. She was very far from okay. "I… I'm just sorry… for what happened…" Lena knew Emily wouldn't understand just what she was apologizing for.

Emily nodded before she turned back and continued walking.

* * *

"And where have you been skulking around?"

Sombra crossed her arms, her gaze falling on the practically empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside the redhead. "I didn't think you'd even notice I was gone."

"It's much quieter without you; I can actually hear myself think," Moira replied, setting down the glass in her hand. "Don't try to change the subject; where have you been? Another 'business meeting'?"

"You should be nice to me, Doctor."

"And why is that?"

"Well, you know how you have been moping about—"

"I have not been moping."

"You have, but don't worry because I am on the case."

"Grand, now I can sleep." Moira let out a sigh. "You have drawn this out long enough; tell me what you obviously want to and then leave me be."

Sombra made a face, but she supposed she had kept Moira in suspense long enough. "I paid a visit to our little assassin friend."

Moira's demeanor immediately changed at that, something Sombra took great satisfaction in. "You infiltrated Overwatch's headquarters?"

"Their security is a joke—"

"What were you thinking; we left Tracer there for a reason! Your unexpected visit could have set her off all over again—"

"She was fine, relax. I mean, she was a little upset when I told her the truth—"

"You told her the truth, oh my god…" Moira shook her head, rubbing her eyes.

"Well what was I supposed to do? She kept asking when we were coming to bring her back, and I couldn't lie."

"Oh, so now suddenly your moral compass kicks in?"

That immediately put Sombra on the defensive. "Hey, I have been called a lot of things, but 'liar' is not on that list. Besides, after everything she's been through, she deserves to have someone tell it to her straight."

Moira shook her head; she could only imagine how Tracer had reacted to that news. Still, as angry as she was at Sombra for going behind her back, she would be lying if she said she hadn't been worried about the brunette. "And?"

"And what?" Sombra asked, though Moira had a feeling that she knew exactly "what".

"After you told her the truth, what happened? How did she react?"

"She was… understandably upset at first, at least it seemed that way when she tackled me to the floor."

Moira was unable to stop the small smile that played across her lips at the mental image that brought.

"I managed to calm her down, but she isn't happy about being left with Overwatch," Sombra finished.

"I can't say I blame her." Moira picked up the bottle of whiskey, pouring herself another glassful. "But is she otherwise all right?"

The hacker grinned slightly, and Moira knew she made a mistake asking that type of question. "You know, you can just admit what we all already know."

"And what would that?" Moira all but growled.

"That you actually care about Tracer—"

"Ugh, please spare me your suspicions of sentimentality," Moira said, grabbing her whiskey bottle and getting to her feet. Still, knowing that Tracer was all right was more comforting than she'd like to let on, and the redhead felt as though she could once again focus on her work. "Thank you…"

"What's that I hear, the doctor actually thanking me for something I did?"

"Now get the hell out."

* * *

"I am not debating this with you, Angela; we cannot leave our base unguarded."

"It's not unguarded, people will be here—"

"And they will have their own tasks to focus on. They cannot be distracted."

Amélie didn't like the sound of this conversation, and she had a feeling it was about Lena. The sniper rounded the corner, doing her best to look like she had merely walked upon the scene, rather than eavesdropping.

Jack and Angela paused at her entrance, and it confirmed what the sniper had suspected.

"Am I interrupting?" the French woman asked.

"No; this matter concerns you anyway," Jack replied. "We're sending a strike team out, leaving the base nearly empty."

"Let me guess; you're concerned because Lena will have to be left here. I trust it is safe to assume that I am not on this strike team," Amélie said.

"I know you believe you have some sort of control over her, but she's already attacked multiple agents, to the point where Angela had to shoot her. Add in the fact that we have a civilian present… well, it will be safer for everyone if the assassin is locked up."

Now Amélie knew why Angela had sounded upset. "You want to lock Lena up the whole time you're gone?"

"It will only be a few days, a week at most—"

"That's too long; she won't be able to handle that."

Jack didn't look convinced. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

"You don't understand; being confined will drive her up the walls. She could injure herself trying to get out, not to mention this could undo all the progress we've made."

"Progress, what progress? She still refuses to answer questions about Talon, and she's attacked both Fareeha and Jesse without any provocation," Jack said.

Amélie looked at Angela, hoping for support, but the look on the blonde's face told her that this was an argument she'd already had with the commander. If he wasn't willing to listen to Angela, someone he considered his equal (if not a superior), then he definitely wouldn't find Amélie's argument any more convincing.

"Am I going to be allowed to get my tea, or will I be drawn into whatever argument you're having here?"

The three looked up at Ana's entrance, and Amélie made the decision to plead her case to her mentor; perhaps the captain would be more willing to listen to reason.

"Captain, Lena cannot survive being locked up for multiple days—"

The older Amari put a hand up, stopping the sniper mid-sentence.

"Ana—" Jack started, but Ana held up a finger, turning it in his direction as she continued to make her tea. It quickly became obvious that Ana was not interested in hearing any side of the argument, at least not until she'd had her tea.

It was silent as the captain continued, and once she had poured herself a cup and taken a sip, she let out a sigh. "Now, let's hear this problem that apparently only I can solve."

Both parties began speaking at once, and Ana let out a sharp noise, putting her hand up again.

"I meant one at a time, children, please."

Amélie looked at Commander Morrison before she crossed her arms and remained silent; she was only an agent, after all, which meant she would need to wait.

"You know we are all being called out for this strike team, and it will be safest for everyone if the assassin—"

"Lena, her name is Lena," Amélie said, unable to help herself. Ana gave her a look, and the sniper fell silent.

"If Lena is kept in a secure room. There is a civilian here, after all—"

"One that you brought here; don't act like this is just fate, Jack," Ana said. "I understand you wanting to keep Emily safe, but just remember that it was your choice to bring her here." The captain looked at Amélie before she said, "And I suppose you do not agree with this?"

"No, I don't. Lena will lose her mind if she is forced to stay in a locked room for multiple days; doing so could undo all the progress we've made with her. We want her to trust us, to let her know that Overwatch is a safe place. If you want her to turn on Talon, then you can't treat her like a prisoner."

"Then how would you like us to treat a killer?" Jack asked.

"Like the victim she is!"

"She's the victim here—"

"Yes, she is, and I don't understand why that is still so hard for you to understand! None of you have any idea of what she has been through! You don't know what it is like to be taken away and treated like a science experiment! To have your sense of safety shattered, to always be looking over your shoulder, wondering if Talon is going to come back to finish the job." Amélie was visibly shaking now, which seemed to be a point of surprise for the others. She suspected it was due to the fact that she had a reputation of being calm and collected (being a sniper and all).

"We are supposed to be an advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, yet you are willing to turn your back on Lena so quickly, when she is someone who needs us the most," Amélie added, doing her best to keep her voice from shaking.

Silence permeated the room, and Amélie looked at her mentor, trying to read her expression (Ana was frustratingly good at remaining neutral, which explained why the captain had won more than a few rounds of poker).

"Where is Lena now?" Ana finally asked, a question that caught both parties off-guard.

"She's asleep in my room," Amélie replied.

"Without supervision—" Jack started.

"She's asleep," Amélie repeated with more force.

"Wake her up please and bring her here," Ana said. "I'd like to have a chat with her."

* * *

Being pulled from her sleep was nothing new for Lena; she'd been having some horrible kind of dream anyway, trapped in her suit as it slowly filled with blood. Amélie had woken her when she'd been in the death throes of drowning, and the brunette gasped for air as she came to.

"Easy, you're all right," came Amélie's soothing voice.

Lena clung to Amélie tightly, feeling the sniper gently rub her back. "I see them," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Who?"

Lena shook her head, sitting up slightly and gesturing with her hands as it trying to indicate a wide array of people. "Them. The people I've killed. All of them. Whenever I close my eyes… try to sleep… I see their faces. When my brain is quiet, I hear them… it never stops…"

Amélie could see the pain in Lena's eyes, and she wished there was more she could do to ease her companion's suffering. "It's not your fault… what Talon did to you."

Lena let out a sigh, rubbing her eyes. She knew that was true, but it didn't change the fact that she was responsible for murder.

"Take a few moments to compose yourself, and then come with me. Captain Amari wants to speak with you."

"More questions?" These people just didn't give up.

"I don't know what exactly, but I do not think it's another interrogation." Amélie watched the brunette for a minute or so longer before she said, "Are you ready?"

Lena nodded, and she followed Amélie from the room. The two eventually ended up in the kitchen, where Ana was sitting at the table alone.

"Ah, there you are. Thank you Amélie," the captain said.

Amélie nodded before she left, much to Lena's displeasure.

"Please, have a seat Lena," Ana said, gesturing to the other chair.

Lena paused a moment before she approached the table, pulling out the chair and settling in it.

"I am sorry to disturb your sleep, but I thought we should have a talk," the captain added.

"About Talon?"

"No, not about Talon." Ana picked up the teapot on the table and poured some tea into a second cup. "You and I have not exactly seen eye-to-eye, if you'll excuse the pun." She chuckled softly at her own joke, which Lena didn't entirely get. "Can I tell you a secret, Lena? I broke protocol during our first encounter, back in King's Row. I tried to approach you; there was a small part of me that hoped there was a person under that helmet that could be reasoned with."

Lena wasn't quite sure why Ana was telling her this; this was a different attitude than the captain had had before. Lena could understand why Ana would be hostile towards her, considering she had almost killed her and rendered one of her eyes useless, but this… Lena didn't know what this was.

"Amélie believes you are such a person; she is willing to fight for you, to stand up to her superiors and risk her agent status. Unfortunately, you have not done much to repay her."

Lena already knew that much; she knew Amélie's kindness was one she didn't deserve.

"Tea?"

The brunette looked up, her brow furrowed slightly. "What?"

Ana pushed the teacup over to her as she said, "You are British, after all; I suspect you enjoy a good cup of tea as much as I do. To be honest, you and I may be the only ones who really appreciate tea the way it deserves."

Lena looked down at the cup before she picked it up, taking a sip. It was hot, almost too hot, and she set it back down, her tongue stinging.

"You still have a chance to prove that Amélie is right to defend you." Ana interlaced her fingers and leaned forward slightly, her one eyes meeting Lena's gaze. "So, would you like to discuss being that reasonable person?"


	25. Chapter 25

"What do you think Captain Amari is talking to her about?"

Angela shook her head. "I rarely understand Ana's motivations."

Amélie crossed her arms, a troubled expression on her face. While she knew Captain Amari was more than capable of taking care of herself, that was also what concerned her. She could easily put Lena down if she felt she needed to, and without Amélie there to defend the brunette… well, the sniper tried not to think about that.

"Angela… you've read her file… we're not wasting our time here, are we? What Talon has done to Lena… we can reverse it, right?" Amélie asked.

Angela let out a sigh. "I honestly don't know; Moira spent months erasing her memories and reconditioning her. The only memories and experiences she has now are of pain and killing. Even if we could instill in her the basics of morality, I don't know if we could ever truly bring Lena Oxton back."

That was what Amélie had been afraid of. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bring back memories that just didn't exist anymore. Everything she and Lena had shared, everything the brunette had experience that made her the person Amélie had had feelings for… gone, and for what?

"If I ever see Moira O'Deorain, I am going to put a bullet right between her eyes," Amélie said darkly.

The conviction in her voice scared Angela and sent a chill down her spine; she knew the sniper had every intention of following through with her threat should her path ever cross the geneticist's again.

"Has Ana finished with the assass—" Jack paused upon seeing the death glare on Amélie's face. "With Lena?"

"Not yet," Angela replied, not having the energy to deal with another fight between the sniper and the commander.

"Ah good, you're all here."

The three looked up at Ana's voice as she entered, Lena beside her.

"Are you going to tell us what that was all about?" Jack asked.

"If I wanted you to know, I wouldn't have asked you all to leave," Ana replied. "However, Lena and I did have a nice chat, and I believe we've settled the matter you were arguing about." There was a pause before Ana nudged the brunette. "Go on, tell them."

Lena looked at the captain before she looked at the others, trying to find the right words. "I… understand that I'm still dangerous… I'm trying not to be. When you're gone… I'll behave for Amélie… and you can lock me up at night."

That was surprising; Lena was agreeing to be willfully incarcerated, and based on the expressions of the assembled agents, no one had been expecting that.

"You're really okay with this?" Angela asked, still not entirely sure that Lena understood just what she was saying.

Lena nodded.

"Well, it sounds like the matter is settled then," Ana said. "Perhaps next time you'll all consider actually talking to Lena when the matter concerns her; you might be surprised." The captain turned and started from the room, and Amélie quickly went after her, catching her in the hallway.

"Captain, wait," Amélie said, moving in front of her mentor. "Back there with Lena… did she really agree to this?"

"As opposed to what? Me strong-arming her into saying that?"

Amélie didn't want to accuse the captain of doing anything of the sort, but this whole situation just seemed too… easy. "It's just… I know that Lena hates being confined. I mean, it was a fight just to get her into the shower."

"I see. So you find it difficult to believe that she would agree to be locked up all night."

Amélie nodded. "I just… I don't know if she really understands what's going on."

Ana let out a sigh before she said, "That is the problem we all have been suffering from, myself included. We all have fallen under the impression that Lena is still that mindless Talon assassin, but the truth is that she understands more than we give her credit for. I admit, I wanted to stay angry with her; perhaps it would have been easier if she were some hired assassin because then we could treat her like such, but she is not. I decided to try a new tactic, which was sitting Lena down and having a normal conversation, and as you witnessed yourself, it worked."

"Now we just need everyone to understand that and maybe Lena will have a chance."

* * *

"You would think with all the time I've spent with both you and Captain Amari, I'd be better at making tea." Amélie brought the teapot over to the table, sitting across from Lena. "I think I've only succeeded in making hot leaf juice, though I suppose that's really what all tea is."

"… I feel like I should be offended."

Amélie laughed, pouring a cup for the brunette before she stood and returned to the coffeemaker.

"Oh, did you already make coffee because that would be fantastic."

Lena immediately froze up at Emily's entrance before fixing her gaze resolutely on the liquid in her cup. If she didn't look at the redhead, maybe Emily would just ignore her.

" _Oui_ ; help yourself," Amélie said, having poured her own cup and returning to the table.

"Everyone left pretty early this morning, huh?" Emily asked as she moved to the coffeemaker. "Is this a usual thing around here?"

"Leaving the base this empty? _Non_. Early morning wake-ups are nothing new, though," the sniper replied.

Emily let out some noise of acknowledgement before she joined the two at the table, sitting between them. "Morning, Lena."

Lena nodded in response, her gaze still on her tea. Those awful feelings of guilt were rising up again, and the brunette wondered if she would always feel this way around Emily.

"So why didn't you two go on the mission?" Emily asked.

Amélie paused a moment as she considered the best way to answer that question without giving away the truth. "Lena has not yet been cleared for active duty, and as her mentor, I need to stay with her."

Lena looked up at the sniper, her brow furrowed. Amélie had called her an agent, and herself Lena's mentor… how long were they going to continue lying to Emily? Did everyone expect that the redhead would never know the truth about who Lena really was?

Emily nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. "So, what do you want to do while we have the base to ourselves?"

"Well we need to continue our training—"

"Come on, you can do that anytime. Your bosses are away; build a pillow fort, slide around in your socks, blast your music." Emily nudged Lena with her elbow. "Back me up here Lena."

"Y-yeah…" Lena said.

Emily's brow furrowed slightly as she looked between the two. "Haven't you two ever been home alone?"

"Well, it's been a long time since I lived with my parents, but sometimes when Gerard was out, I'd play my ballet music and make macarons," Amélie said, standing up to take her cup to the sink.

"That's… really French, but okay, that's the spirit," Emily said. "What about you Lena? There must have been something you enjoyed doing when you were home alone."

"Um…" The only memories she had of being alone were associated with Talon, and she gripped her teacup uncertainly.

Emily shook her head. "Okay, you two have spent too much time being serious. Looks like I came just in time."

* * *

"Okay, whoever slides the furthest down the hallway wins."

"I didn't realize it was a competition," Amélie said, her tone amused.

"Oh, it is, and I will destroy you, so prepare yourself for the sting of defeat," Emily said as she removed her shoes. "I'll even let you go first so I can wave to you as I slide by."

"Careful _Roux_ , your hubris is showing."

"Calling me names in French will not distract me, _bean ard_. Now stop stalling and start sliding."

Amélie took a few steps back, looking at the hallway in front of her. She couldn't recall the last time she had done something this juvenile, and honestly, she felt a little ridiculous doing this right now, even with no one watching. She glanced back at Lena, who was watching with a curious expression on her face.

 _Lena may not regain any of her old memories, so it's time to start making new ones that don't involve Talon._

Amélie ran forward before she began to slide, almost losing her balance once or twice. She slid for a few seconds before coming to a stop, and she let out a short laugh, looking back at the redhead.

"Pitiful," Emily said before she took a few steps back. "Lena, I am about to put your mentor to shame." The redhead ran forward before beginning to slide, going a bit quicker than Amélie had. She slid past the French woman, giving her a sarcastic wave as she went. Eventually she stopped near Dr. Ziegler's office, and she turned back to look at the sniper.

"Yes, I see you have gone further, but Lena has yet to go," Amélie said before she looked back at the brunette. "All right Lena, your turn."

Lena paused a moment before she removed her shoes, taking a few steps back. She wasn't entirely sure why they were doing this, but it did look like fun…

 _Maybe that's what being normal is; just doing things because they're fun._

Lena ran forward before suddenly blinking, which sent her sliding down the hallway much quicker than she anticipated. Her speed didn't give her much control, which ended with her colliding with Emily, bringing them both the floor. The brunette could feel her face immediately growing hot, but Emily was… laughing?

"Sorry… are you okay?" Lena asked.

"I'm fine," Emily managed as her laughter died down. "I didn't realize you wanted to beat me so badly." The redhead sat up, rubbing her elbow where she'd hit it. "What was that thing you did at the beginning? You disappeared for a second."

"O-oh…" Lena wasn't quite sure how to explain what blinking was, mainly because she didn't understand it herself. She knew she could do it, and she knew how to do it, but she had no idea how to explain that a device had been surgically implanted in her chest to allow her to do so. "Um… it's just something… I can do…"

Emily paused a moment before she said, "Well, I demand a re-slide, and you're not allowed to use it this time." The redhead got to her feet, offering Lena her hand.

Lena looked at her hand before she took it, and Emily helped her to her feet. The brunette looked down at their joined hands; the guilty feeling was still present, of course, but there was something else. She wasn't quite sure what it was, or how to describe it, and she quickly let go of Emily's hand.

"Come on Amélie, re-slide; I can wave at you as I go by again," Emily said as she made her way back down the hallway.

"You know, it would be a shame if you were to trip on your way by. A real pity."

* * *

Dinner had been finished and night had fallen, which meant that Lena knew what was coming next. She was silent as she followed Amélie to the incarceration room, and upon seeing the plexiglass paned cell, she could feel her heart rate starting to pick up.

Amélie opened the door, looking back at Lena and noticing the expression on her face. She let out a sigh before she said, "You don't have to do this. I can come up with some explanation—"

"No… I agreed to this… don't want you to get in trouble." The brunette took a deep breath before she walked into the cell, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

"I brought you a pillow and a blanket," Amélie said, holding said items out to the brunette. As if that somehow made this all better; as if this made up for the fact that Lena had to spend all night in a cell. "No reason you can't be comfortable."

Lena took the two items, muttering a thank you, though Amélie could see that something was still troubling her.

"I know this isn't ideal—"

"It's not this…"

Amélie's brow furrowed slightly before she said, "What is it?"

Lena let out a few uncertain noises before she said, "We… we just keep lying to her…"

Ah, so it was about Emily then. Amélie let out another sigh before she said, "You understand why we are doing so, _oui_?"

Lena half-shrugged, biting at a loose cuticle on her finger.

Amélie reached over and placed her hand over Lena's, gently pushing it away from her mouth. "Lena? You understand why, don't you?"

"She deserves to know the truth… about what I did…"

The French woman worried her bottom lip for a moment or two; she supposed she could understand Lena's want to be honest, but if Emily knew the truth…

"I know you want to be honest with her, but she can't know yet, at least not while we're here alone with her. She's still grieving, and she needs to feel safe."

"But she isn't safe… not while I'm here…"

"Lena—"

"I'm afraid… afraid I'll lose control and finish what Arsenic told me to do…"

Amélie didn't know who this Arsenic was that Lena was referring to, but she could understand the fear. "I understand; there are times I have that same fear. I still don't know what Talon did to me… and I fear that I could do something to hurt my team. But you and I are fighters, Lena, and we fight to stay in control."

Lena didn't respond, but she nodded.

Amélie leaned in and pressed a kiss to Lena's forehead before she turned her attention to the door, closing it and beginning to lock it.

"Amélie…"

The sniper looked up at the brunette, seeing the pleading in her eyes.

"Please don't forget me… in the morning…"

"I promise I won't; I'll be back as soon as I wake up."

* * *

Lena didn't sleep much that night. She spent most of the night pacing around the cell, fighting off the feeling of restlessness that was building in her limbs. Occasionally, she would blink around the cell, clinging to the walls before dropping back to the floor.

When Amélie finally appeared to let her out, Lena couldn't recall a time she'd been happier to see anyone. She blinked out of the cell as soon as the door opened, letting out a long sigh.

"I take it you didn't sleep much," Amélie said, turning towards the brunette.

Lena shook her head, following Amélie out of the room.

"Well, let's get some breakfast in you; I'm sure you're hungry—" The sniper paused upon emerging into the main room, her gaze falling on an omnic who appeared to be waiting near the main staircase. He didn't look familiar, and Amélie found herself wishing she had her rifle. "Wait here," she said to Lena in a low voice before she began to approach. "Can I help you?"

"Is this the Overwatch Headquarters?" the omnic replied.

"It is; who are you, who sent you here?"

"Forgive me, I have not properly introduced myself. I am Zenyatta; my student Genji Shimada told me he was stationed here."

Amélie relaxed at that before she said, "Ah yes, Genji has mentioned you before. Unfortunately he isn't here at the moment, and he probably won't be back for a few days."

From where she was watching the exchange, Lena's eyes widened in realization. This was the omnic who had been with her target that night in King's Row, the one she had tackled out the window. Why was he here? Had he managed to track her down? Did he come to get revenge for his brother's death?

 _If he has, he deserves it._

Amélie had told her to stay put, but Lena felt as though she owed Zenyatta something; if she couldn't manage an apology then he at least deserved a chance to confront her. The brunette slowly made her way forward, freezing when she saw Zenyatta turn his head towards her.

"Greetings," Zenyatta said, moving his hand in a small, quick circle.

Amélie turned to see Lena approaching, and she wondered if she should interfere before the truth got out. Lena was already overwhelmed with Emily's presence; the sniper wasn't sure how she would react to facing Mondatta's brother. "This is Lena Oxton."

Zenyatta nodded. "Peace be upon you."

Lena had reached the omnic now, though she couldn't find any words that seemed appropriate. What was there to say? How could she ask for his forgiveness when she had been the one to take his brother's life right in front of him?

"I sense a great sadness in you… a terrible, familiar pain… our paths have crossed before, haven't they?"

Lena instead fell to her hands and knees in front of him, an odd feeling prickling at the corners of her eyes.

 _Crying… I'm crying..._

There was a pause before Lena felt a hand come to rest gently on the top of her head. The brunette felt tears running down her face, and she began to sob openly at the kindness of the gesture, one she knew she didn't deserve.

 _It should have been me that day… I should have died instead of Mondatta…_


	26. Chapter 26

Something was wrong. Lena wasn't quite what it was exactly, but it had started with an odd pain in her chest. Of course, pain was a familiar friend, but that pain had always been external, due to the suit. This pain… it wasn't like pain she had experienced before. Still, it was only enough to make her wince occasionally and put a hand to the spot; it certainly wasn't enough to actually bother anyone with.

Her actions, however, did not go unnoticed.

"Lena, are you feeling all right?" Amélie asked upon noticing the brunette wince.

Lena nodded; she didn't want the sniper to worry, seeing as how she had put Amélie through enough already.

The French woman was not convinced. "Are you sure? I can try and get a hold of Dr. Ziegler—"

"No… I'm fine…"

Amélie wasn't convinced, but she knew that pushing the issue would only make Lena clam up more, so she decided to switch tactics. "I have to train at the shooting range today, and Zenyatta has agreed to watch you."

"You think it's okay for me to be alone with him?" Lena asked.

"I am led to believe that he is more proficient in defending himself than he lets on." Amélie paused, noting Lena's still troubled expression. Do you feel as though you will attack him?"

Lena looked down, not entirely sure how to answer that. "I… will do my best to behave."

* * *

Amélie had left, and now Lena was alone with the omnic. Zenyatta was currently sitting in a cross-legged position (though perhaps it was more accurate to say he was floating in such a position, seeing as how he wasn't touching the ground), and the orbs around his neck were moving in a circle slowly. They let out a gentle chiming noise and a lighted symbol as they occasionally bounced, and Lena found herself almost entranced as she watched them.

"Greetings."

Lena jumped at Zenyatta's calm voice, and she slowly approached. "What are you doing?"

"Meditating. It helps me to clear my mind and focus."

Lena let out a sigh. "I wish I could clear my mind… I have a lot I want to forget…"

"Meditating will not erase pain, but it can help you cope with it. Would you like to join me?"

"I don't know how."

"One can always learn, if they are willing."

Lena paused a moment before she sat cross-legged in front of the omnic, watching the orbs again.

"Your mind is troubled."

The brunette looked down, letting out a few uncertain noises. "You know what I did… you watched me kill your brother…" Lena paused a few more moments before she added, "Why don't you hate me?"

Zenyatta was silent for a few moments before he said, "Of course I miss Mondatta and wish he were still alive, but what you did was not your fault. You did not wish him dead; you were in pain, and being forced to carry out the deeds of the people who truly wished my brother harm. Being angry with you will not bring him back, nor will it allow me to move forward, so I have chosen to forgive."

Lena nodded, though she didn't understand, not entirely. "Do… do you think it's better to know the truth? If you didn't know who I was… or what I did… would you want to be told?"

"The truth is oftentimes painful, but that pain eventually passes and allows for healing. However, keeping it hidden and allowing guilt and false pretenses to build does not allow for such."

"Yeah…"

"This is about Emily?"

Lena nodded. "They made me kill her parents… I was supposed to kill her too…"

"But you didn't, and she doesn't know the truth." Zenyatta paused in consideration for a moment. "In this case, who is the truth protecting? You or Emily?"

"Amélie says we're protecting Emily… that if she knew, she wouldn't feel safe…"

"Do you agree?"

Lena let out a sigh. "Don't know… being with Emily… makes me wonder if that is what being normal feels like. I… I don't want that to go away…"

"You fear that revealing the truth will turn Emily against you."

"She'll hate me… I just…" Lena closed her eyes, trying to focus and find the right words to express how she was feeling. "I want to be happy... but something inside me screams that I don't deserve it."

* * *

The pain in her chest was more persistent now, enough to be distracting and making focusing a bit more difficult. Still, Lena was used to enduring pain in silence, so she kept it to herself; she was sure it would pass soon enough anyway.

"Lena!"

The brunette looked up at Emily's voice, seeing the redhead approaching.

"So I was thinking that tonight we could grab some pillows and blankets, maybe construct a little fort, and watch some movies; are you in?"

"Um…" Lena didn't quite understand how blankets and pillows translated to a fort, but it sounded more enjoyable than being locked up again. "Yeah… let me just ask Amélie—"

"Oh, uh, I was kinda hoping it could just be us…"

Lena's brow furrowed at that. "What?"

"Don't get me wrong, Amélie is great, and I'm not gonna lie, she's real nice to look at, but it's just… I don't know how to explain it really, I just feel like we have some sort of connection."

A connection. If only Emily realized just what that connection was, she wouldn't be suggesting they watch movies together, just the two of them. For a moment, Lena considered telling her the truth right then and there, but a much more selfish part of her kept her quiet. She didn't have her blades anyway, right? Maybe just this once would be okay…

"Yeah… okay, let's do it."

* * *

Lena was missing.

The thought immediately made Amélie's heart skip a beat as it ran through her head. Of course, there were only so many places Lena could be inside the base (assuming of course she hadn't just up and left, but that wasn't like her), but the fact that Amélie had lost track of the brunette was enough to make her heart rate pick up significantly.

 _Stay calm, don't panic; she has to be somewhere in here._

Amélie knew that logically, but she still found herself grabbing her rifle before she began her search. If Talon had found out that their base was empty, it was entirely possible they had come back for Lena, and possibly Amélie herself.

 _No, you would have heard the alarms; they couldn't have infiltrated the base without triggering something._

Amélie's rational brain was quickly losing that fight though as images of Gerard's dead body flashed through her head, along with images of what Talon could do to Lena if they got their hands on her again. She knew she should just call out to Lena, but the chance of Talon being present, however slim, kept her silent.

The sniper eventually reached the lounge, and her gaze fell on a sort of tent made from blankets and chairs. There was some movie playing on the big screen, and Amélie felt herself relax as she lowered her rifle. Lena was fine, Talon hadn't returned for her. However, that relief was quickly replaced with irritation, especially due to the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

"What are you two doing?" Amélie said, moving in between the screen and the two women. She bristled ever so slightly at the sight of Lena and Emily sharing the blanket draped over their shoulders; it wasn't so much the jealousy as it was the fact that that was closer than she'd managed to get with Lena since the brunette's arrival.

Lena seemed to visibly shrink back at the sniper's appearance, unable to meet Amélie's gaze.

"We're just watching a movie—" Emily started.

"Alone. Without telling me."

"Look, it wasn't personal—"

"This isn't a matter of injured feelings, it's a matter of you sneaking off behind my back."

Emily's brow furrowed before she said, "Are you two involved or something, because I wasn't trying to interfere—"

"No, it's not—" Amélie let out a sigh; she didn't want to admit out loud that she and Lena no longer had that type of relationship, but she didn't want to get into details either. "I thought… I thought something had happened to you. There are still bad people who could come after you both, and with the base being so empty… it would be an ideal time for them to strike."

"Oh…" A look of guilt crossed Emily's face at that, and she bit her lip before she said, "I didn't think about that… I'm sorry. We didn't mean to worry you."

"It's all right… just don't do that again," Amélie said, giving Lena a look that implied the brunette should know better.

"Well, you're here now, you might as well stay," Emily said, holding the blanket open.

Amélie paused a moment before she took the invitation, settling between the two. "What movie are we watching?"

(It turned out the movie didn't much matter; soon enough both Emily and Lena had fallen asleep against the French woman, which Amélie had to admit, she didn't entirely mind.)

* * *

Four days after they had left, the team returned to the base, something Lena had mixed feelings about if she was being entirely honest. It was safer with more people, of course, but she had enjoyed not feeling judged and watched every time she walked into a room.

"I trust everything went smoothly during our absence?" Ana asked after she had located Amélie and Lena.

Lena glanced at the sniper, wondering if Amélie would tell Ana about the movie night with Emily. She didn't think Amélie would, but as she had learned the hard way with Talon, she could never fully trust anyone.

" _Oui_ , smooth. Everyone is accounted for, and the base is still standing." Amélie replied.

Ana nodded, and Lena let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I saw that Zenyatta arrived during our absence. Has that been all right?"

Lena knew Ana was referring to her; all the subtly in the world couldn't hide that fact. Not that Lena could blame her honestly.

"It's been fine; he and Lena have gotten along quite well, to be honest. I must ask him how he manages to get her to sit still for so long," Amélie said, a slight teasing in her voice.

"Very good," Ana said with a nod. "At this rate, perhaps things are finally looking up, yes?"

* * *

The pain had moved past simply distracting, and was now making it hard for her to focus on anything else. Lena had thought that nothing could be worse than her suit, but this… this was proving to be far worse than pain she could remember.

Amélie was saying something to her, but she sounded miles away. Even if she could decipher the words, she wasn't sure if she would actually understand them. Her brain seemed clouded, and she pressed hand to her head, letting out a low noise of distress.

"Lena?" Amélie's hand was on her shoulder, but the brunette barely registered the touch. "You're shaking… are you all right?"

"I need… bathroom…" Lena managed to get out before she staggered to her feet, making a mad dash for the bathroom. The door slid closed behind her as she fell to her knees in front of the toilet, clinging to it as she fought to focus through the pain. Her shaking had grown violent, and the brunette struggled to keep herself upright.

 _What… what's wrong with me…?_

"Lena? Lena, are you all right?" she heard Amélie call from the other side of the closed door.

The brunette didn't reply, mainly because she couldn't seem to recall how to make her voice work. Lena finally managed to force herself to straighten up, her gaze falling on the familiar red glow through her shirt. She paused a moment before she removed her shirt, bringing a hand up to lightly touch the glass face of the accelerator. Through the haze in her mind, a single thought came through.

 _This is not normal. This is not how normal people live._

 _You want to be normal? Make yourself normal then._

-/-

Amélie had grown well past concerned. She could hear odd noises on the other side of the bathroom door, as well as distressed noises coming from Lena.

"Lena? Lena, open the door!" Amélie called, her tone bordering on desperate as she tried to pry the door open. She silently cursed Overwatch for having sliding doors; much harder to kick down. The sniper began pounding on the door with her fist as she called, "Lena! Lena, answer me!"

The door didn't budge, and Amélie swore in French before she took a step back, her mind racing. She moved to grab her rifle before she returned, aiming for the lock on the door.

 _This isn't safe—_

That thought didn't even time to finish before she fired at the lock. The door released at that, and Amélie quickly forced it open.

"Lena—" Her stomach clenched tightly at the sight of Lena lying on the floor, and Amélie's gun clattered to the floor as she quickly fell beside the brunette's side.

Lena's eyes were closed, and the almost imperceptible fall and rise of her chest was the only indicator she was still alive. The glass face of her accelerator was cracked and the light was flickering, as if struggling just as hard as she was to stay alive. The skin surrounding the area was severely clawed and bleeding heavily, and Amélie gently scooped Lena into her arms, feeling tears starting down her face.

"Just hang on, _cherie_ … please, don't go somewhere I can't follow again."

* * *

Angela didn't like to admit when she'd been outmatched, but as she looked at Lena's unconscious form, there was little else she could do. Amélie had brought Lena to her in near hysterics ("Save her please! Don't let her die, I can't lose her!"), to the point where Fareeha and Zenyatta had had to take Amélie away in an effort to calm her down.

Patching up the wounds in her chest had been easy enough, but after running multiple tests on the brunette, Angela had to admit that whatever Lena was suffering from was unknown to her. Her vitals were wildly out of control; at times her heart was racing, and other times it slowed so much that the blonde feared it would stop altogether. Additionally, Angela had no idea what the damage from the broken accelerator would mean for the brunette.

 _If I'd had more time to read the files or take notes…_

The cold reality was that at this point, Angela was only delaying the inevitable. Lena only had one hope for survival now, and no one was going to like it.

* * *

Moira let out a sigh, rubbing her eyes and leaning back in her chair. She reached for her glass, only to find it empty. The redhead picked up the whiskey bottle beside it, only to find that it was decidedly empty as well.

"Perfect."

There was an odd buzzing noise, and it took Moira embarrassingly long to realize that it was her phone. Her personal phone. No wonder she didn't recognize the sound. The redhead looked at the screen, her brow furrowing slightly before her eyes widened. She recognized that number, despite not having seen it for almost ten years now. Moira raised the phone to her ear before she tentatively said, "Emily?"

"… It's Angela."

Moira felt her blood run cold at that, which took her completely by surprise. She really hadn't thought about what she would do if she ever spoke to Angela again, and she certainly hadn't expected to freeze up this way.

 _Get a hold of yourself O'Deorain._

"Dr. Ziegler. I must admit, I did not expect to hear from you, especially considering that you were the one who said we should never speak again."

"I know you're going to want to gloat, but we don't have time to get into such."

"Might I assume this has something to do with the fact that you have my niece's phone?" Moira suddenly sat up at that, the implication of such hitting her. "Wait, why do you have Emily's phone? Is she all right?"

"Emily is fine; she's been with us for the past week." Angela paused. "She's really grown up since the last time I saw her. She… she's certainly an O'Deorain…"

Moira didn't want to get into that; she had cut off contact with her family some time ago, and didn't want to reopen those wounds. All she needed to know was that Emily was alive and safe. "Why did you call me then? Nostalgia?"

"It's Lena."

"… Whom?"

"Lena Oxton."

"I don't know anyone by that name—"

"For God's sake Moira, it's Tracer!"

Moira had to admit that this was a call she had been dreading, and she did her best to remain indifferent. Perhaps if she could fool Angela into thinking she didn't care, she would believe it herself. "Ah yes; how is my experiment?"

"She's dying Moira."

That immediately made Moira's face fall. "That is not funny Doctor. If this is some ploy to force me to turn myself in—"

"I'm being serious, Moira. Something is wrong with Lena, some disease or sickness that I can't identify. She tore up the skin on her chest and cracked her accelerator; I can heal her physical wounds, but I don't know what to do beyond that."

Moira was silent for a long while, and she could hear Angela breathing on the other end of the phone, waiting for her response. Tracer was dying… whatever she was afflicted with eluded even the great Dr. Ziegler. The temptation of researching something new was strong, but that meant returning to Overwatch, a place where she was despised and considered a criminal. However, if she stayed away, Tracer would die for sure, which would defeat the whole purpose of sending her away.

 _What matters more… my freedom or Tracer's life?_


	27. Chapter 27

"You're not seriously considering going?"

"If you have another solution, I may be open to hearing it, though I will most likely reject it."

Sombra made a face. "Why can't you just tell the doctor what to do?"

"Because I don't know what's wrong with Tracer; I need to see her myself to determine what needs to be done."

"Turning yourself over to Overwatch will be suicide," Reaper growled. "They'll never let you leave."

"I don't need their permission—"

"They'll treat you like a prisoner; don't fool yourself into thinking that your past relationship with Angela will save you." Reaper shook his head before he added, "Look, I admit, it wasn't all bad having the kid around, but you did all you could for her. At the end of the day, she's expendable, just like the rest of us."

"Speak for yourself—" Sombra started, her tone offended.

"You've both stated your opinions, but my mind is made up." Moira gave them both a nod before she added, "Try not to get yourselves killed in my absence."

* * *

Moira paused for only a moment as she stood outside the doors to the Overwatch base. She could still turn back, but no. Moira was no quitter; she would finish what she started, damn the consequences.

The redhead held her head high as she strode through the doors, her eyes scanning the lobby.

"I see it hasn't much changed during my absence," the geneticist commented to no one in particular.

There was the sound of a gun clicking, and Moira suddenly found herself on the business end of several weapons.

"Excellent response time, though perhaps you might want to tighten security a bit more, seeing as how I was able to just walk right in. Still, how kind of you all to come welcome me," Moira said, smiling slightly.

"What's your business here, O'Deorain?" Jack growled as he approached.

"I have been invited; is this how you treat all your guests? No wonder the decline of Overwatch has started," Moira replied.

" _Mein Gott_ , Moira."

"Ah, and here is the gracious hostess herself," Moira said, gesturing to Angela as the doctor quickly descended the stairs. "Did you perhaps forget to tell your colleagues that I would be arriving?"

"I was expecting you to contact me first, not walk in like you own the place," Angela said, irritation lacing her voice.

"Is she telling the truth then? Did you ask O'Deorain to come here?" Jack asked.

Angela let out a sigh before she said, "Yes, but only because Lena is running out of time. Moira is the one who made her—"

"You honestly believe she'll help?" Fareeha interrupted; her tone was mostly angry, but Angela could sense the small hint of hurt underneath. Hurt that Angela had gone behind everyone's back and invited her ex-wife to their base.

"She will if she knows what's good for her," Angela said, fixing Moira with a cold look. "Objections?"

Moira paused a moment before she gave the doctor a mock bow. "I am at your service, Doctor."

* * *

"Is Lena going to be all right?"

Amélie looked up at the redhead sitting across from her. Emily's gaze was down on her breakfast, and she looked as miserable as Amélie felt. If the sniper was being honest, she didn't know if Lena would be all right, but she certainly didn't want to think about that, or admit it out loud.

"She'll pull through," the French woman found herself saying. "Dr. Ziegler is one of the best doctors alive; Lena is in good hands."

Emily nodded, though her expression didn't change. "I… I'm not very hungry. I think I'm just going to go back to my room." The redhead stood and left the kitchen, and Amélie let out a sigh. After a few moments, she stood as well, carrying the plates to the sink. The sniper picked up her rifle before she left the kitchen, starting for the infirmary. She knew it didn't make any sense to carry her weapon around, especially with everyone back in the base, but with Lena so helpless now… Amélie felt like she needed to be able to protect the brunette.

The French woman rounded the corner, approaching the open door of Angela's office. Upon entering, her gaze fell on the doctor first, and then on a tall, lanky figure.

Time seemed to stop at that moment, and Amélie froze at the sight of the redhead. Those multicolored eyes… she could remember seeing them above her as she was restrained to the table, her fists clenched tightly, nails digging into her skin, pain coursing through her body…

" _Just relax Lacroix."_

This woman was the reason Amélie could never fully relax, the reason she was always looking for fiends with knives behind chairs. This woman was the reason Lena was currently lying in the infirmary, teetering on the verge of death.

 _If I ever see Moira O'Deorain again, I am going to put a bullet between her eyes._

Amélie couldn't quite describe the rage she felt at that moment; it both chilled her blood and made her skin feel as though it were on fire. She felt dissociated from her body, and the only thing grounding her was the firm grip she had on her rifle. Amélie tightened her grip on said weapon before she strode forward, her gaze never leaving the geneticist.

"Amélie wait!" Angela quickly stepped in front of the sniper before she could reach Moira, and the French woman let out a growl.

"Get out of my way—"

"I know you're upset—"

"Upset is barely even the beginning of what I am. Now move aside; I intend to make good on my words," Amélie said darkly.

"Ah, Lacroix," Moira said, her voice only adding fuel to the fire burning inside the French woman. "It really is a shame we didn't get to spend more time together. You were a very promising subject—"

"I am not some science experiment, and neither is Lena!" Amélie made to push past Angela, but the doctor put a hand on her rifle, pushing her back.

"Amélie, we need her—"

"No one needs her; this world will be a far better place once she's eliminated!"

"Without her, we cannot save Lena!"

Yes, that was the only leverage Moira had. Amélie knew in the back of her mind that that was why Moira was here, but it was hard to focus on that when all she could see was her tormentor. To be so close, to have the opportunity to take revenge on the person who had ruined her life, had destroyed Lena's, yet being unable to do anything… it was like being tortured all over again.

With a low, frustrated growl, Amélie pulled herself away, taking a step back. " _Bien_."

"With time you'll come to accept my presence; perhaps you'll even be willing to pick up where we left off—"

Amélie cut the geneticist off with a swift blow to her face with the butt of her gun. Moira recoiled at the hit, a hand flying to her nose.

"That's for what you did to Lena, and if she dies, I will not hesitate to do far worse. No one will be able to protect you from me," Amélie said before she turned on her heel and left, her hands trembling. She didn't want to let Moira out of her sight, but she feared that if she stayed, she wouldn't be able to control herself.

Moira let out a short laugh as Amélie left, lowering her hand slightly and noticing the blood staining her skin. "She's still a little upset I see."

"This isn't a joke, Moira," Angela said, handing the geneticist a tissue. "Amélie has a right to be angry; you kidnapped her and experimented on her. You did the same to Lena—"

"It was all in the interest of science."

"And what interest is that?"

"To discover whether or not a human being can be reprogrammed; to discover if biology's habits can be broken and reformed." Moira lowered the tissue as she added, "Think of the implications, Angela. You could completely rewire those who kill without reason or empathy, people who have been traumatized by war—"

"Don't pretend like you did this to help humanity; you created a weapon for Talon."

Moira shook her head. "You never see the big picture—"

"And you're always too focused on it to realize you're destroying people's lives! Lena Oxton was a person, Moira! A person with memories and feelings and a life of her own, and you took all that from her to further your own agenda! You didn't stop to think about what you were doing to her because you were so damn focused on the 'big picture'!"

Moira paused at Angela's outburst before her gaze went cold. "Are you still referring to Lena, or yourself?"

Angela opened her mouth, and then closed it. "I asked you here so you could fix your mistake. Don't make me regret it."

Moira considered mentioning that perhaps this wasn't all her fault, but decided against that; letting Angela know about Arsenic's involvement could hurt the situation in more ways than one. "I need to see Tracer first before I can do anything."

The doctor's gaze hardened slightly. "She has a name; Lena Oxton is still in there, and you will refer to her as such."

"Bossing me around already, Doctor? At least let me buy you dinner first—"

"Moira."

The redhead fell silent, and after a pause, Angela led her through the nearby door. Moira's gaze fell on the unconscious brunette lying in the bed, and she hoped her expression remained neutral.

"Her vitals have been unpredictable, " Angela said as they approached. "Sometimes her heart races, and then her blood pressure will just plummet without warning. I don't know what to do…"

The defeat in Angela's voice stung more than Moira had anticipated, and she looked down at Tracer. "First off, I can't do much while I'm still in these," Moira said, gesturing with her still-bound wrists.

"You know I can't let you out of those."

"You already confiscated my biotic devices; afraid I might claw you to death?"

Angela gave the redhead a look. "We'll see how you behave."

Moira grinned slightly, but chose to remain silent as she turned her attention back to Tracer. "Well, the first order of business should be repairing her accelerator. That may help stabilize her vitals." The geneticist looked at Angela before she added, "I'll need my personal effects."

The shift in her tone told Angela that Moira was finally transitioning into work mode. "You can't have your biotic devices back—"

"Not that; in my possessions I have a set of tools I brought specifically to repair the accelerator."

Angela didn't make any motion to move, and Moira let out a low growl.

"Like it or not, you need my help, and I can do little by just standing here. Either bring me my tools or lock me up, but make a decision."

* * *

"I don't trust her."

"No one trusts her, but we need her regardless."

Fareeha let out an irritated noise, crossing her arms. "How do we know she's even doing what she claims she will? She made that assassin; we could be helping her set a trap for all of us. You saw how vicious she was when she was first set loose here."

Angela let out a sigh, glancing at Moira's back. The redhead had been repairing Lena's accelerator for almost two hours now, and didn't even seem to be pausing for air.

" _Delicate work_ ," she had said upon being given her tools. " _I cannot be disturbed_."

"I understand your concern, but in some strange way, I believe Moira does care for Lena. Not in a way that makes sense to us, and certainly not in the healthiest way, but she won't let Lena die."

The younger Amari didn't look convinced, and after a pause, she turned her attention to the doctor. "How are you holding up? I imagine it isn't easy, having her around, considering your history."

Angela paused a long moment before she said, "I'm not the one you should be concerned about. We need to focus on Lena right now." The blonde let out a sigh, looking at the still unconscious brunette. "She has already suffered so much… sometimes I wonder how much one person can take."

Fareeha's expression softened, and she wondered if perhaps she had been too harsh on Lena. It all certainly seemed to mean a lot to Angela. "She'll be okay. I don't trust O'Deorain, but if you think she can help… then I trust you."

Angela smiled slightly, though there was a sadness behind it. She took Fareeha's hand, and the younger Amari pulled the blonde close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

From where she was working, Moira's grip tightened slightly on her tools. She knew she had no right to be jealous; she and Angela had divorced for good reason, and the blonde deserved someone who would make her happy.

 _I just didn't expect it to be the Amari brat._

Yes, that did feel like a bit of a sucker punch to her pride. Still, now was not the time to feel sorry for herself. Tracer was her primary concern. Once she was no longer in danger of dying, then the geneticist could focus on other matters.

* * *

"Moira?"

The redhead let out a grunt, though she didn't look up from where she was working.

"Moira, it's been four hours; at least let me help you—"

"I can handle it."

* * *

Moira let out a long sigh as she leaned back, finally setting her tools down. She glanced at the clock on the wall, noticing that darkness had fallen outside. The redhead noticed Angela sitting in the corner, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling slowly. Moira approached the doctor, looking down at her and debating over whether or not she should wake her.

Angela's eyes suddenly opened, focusing on the geneticist in front of her. Her hand seemed to instinctively move to her hip, where her holster usually was, and Moira did her best to conceal just how much of a blow that was.

"Having a bad dream, Doctor?" Moira asked.

"I must have drifted off," Angela said as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Did you fix Lena's accelerator?"

Moira nodded. "There was a bit of damage to the inner workings, but most of the damage was to the glass face. I've repaired both, and her vitals seemed to have stabilized a bit. No telling when she'll wake up though."

Angela stood and approached the brunette, looking down at her. The red light of the accelerator was glowing brightly once again, the glass showed no trace of having been broken.

"Judging my work?" Moira asked, coming to stand beside the doctor. "Is it sufficient?"

"It's fine."

"Just fine?"

Angela rolled her eyes before she said, "It's a work of art, what do you want?"

Moira smiled in that smug way that made Angela bristle before she said, "I still don't know what's wrong with her internally. Have you taken a blood sample already?"

"Yes, but I couldn't find anything unusual." Angela paused a moment before she said, "You've been working for hours, and I know how exhausting surgery can be. Why don't you take a break—"

"You did not ask me to come here to leisurely save Tracer's life. This is a race against the clock, Angela, which means there is no time for breaks. I need to figure out what is wrong with my assassin before it kills her."

Moira's response honestly took Angela aback, and for a moment or two, she floundered with her response. "I didn't realize you felt so strongly about this."

"Didn't you? Why do you think I even came?" Moira looked back at Lena before she said, "Tracer is of my own design; if there are flaws, they must be fixed. I do not settle for sub-par work."

"Aunt Moira?"

Moira froze at the voice behind them, and her gaze met Angela's. She gestured slightly with her still restrained wrists, and Angela knew what she wanted.

"I can't—"

"Please, Angela… don't let her see me like this… not without me being able to explain…"

The almost pleading in her voice… it reminded Angela much of the woman she had first come to know and fall in love with. Whatever it was that moved the blonde, she found herself undoing the restraints around Moira's wrists, slipping them into the pocket of her coat.

"Behave," the doctor warned.

Moira nodded before she turned to face her niece. "Emily. You're looking well."

"You mean considering the fact that my parents were viciously murdered?"

Moira winced internally at that; her niece certainly didn't beat around the bush. O'Deorain indeed. "Yes; I am sorry. That never should have happened…"

"So you knew about it?"

"I received news afterwards—"

"Why didn't you reach out to me then?"

Moira let out a sigh. "It's compli—"

"Complicated, I know." Emily shook her head, crossing her arms. "Heard that one too many times to count."

"What matters is that you are safe now—"

"Why are you even here? I thought you left Overwatch so you could 'branch out in the sciences'."

"Yes, that is true, but I have been called here to assist with Tra—Lena's recovery."

Emily's expression changed at that. "Wha—why, you're not a doctor."

Moira bristled slightly at that. "Dr. Ziegler believed that my expertise in genetics would be useful."

"Well, is she going to get better?" Emily's tone had changed from irritated to wholly concerned.

Moira's brow furrowed slightly before realization set in. "You care about her."

Emily colored lightly before she stepped forward and gently stroked Lena's hair. "I just want her to get better…"

 _Oh, what a cruel irony this is._

"Moira and I are doing all we can to save Lena," Angela supplied. "She's shown a little improvement; if we can continue on that path, then she'll be all right."

Emily nodded before she withdrew. "Just… let me know when she wakes up? She always seems like she's struggling with a terrible pain… I don't want her to be alone when she wakes up."

Moira could only nod dumbly, watching as her niece left the room. "She doesn't know…?"

"No; we thought it best not to tell her," Angela replied.

Moira shook her head, still in slight disbelief. "And who thought that was a good idea? Do you realize the situation that's been created here? Emily is developing feelings for the assassin that killed her family, tried to kill her! When she finds out the truth—"

"If anyone is going to tell her the truth, it should be Lena."

"Are you joking, Angela? Tracer doesn't even understand why she spared Emily—"

"Yes, why did she spare your niece?" Angela fixed Moira with a harsh look.

"Hold on; you do not seriously believe that I sent an assassin after my own family—"

"You created her."

"This is not my fault!" Moira's voice had risen considerably now, and she became aware that she was towering over the blonde.

Angela looked up at the redhead, her expression one of tired patience. "Then whose fault is it?" the doctor asked, her voice going softer.

Moira didn't like that; she wanted this argument to continue so she could defend her position, but when Angela used that voice… it was meant to diffuse, to end the argument right then and there. The geneticist took a few steps back, running a hand through her hair and smoothing back a few errant strands.

"We have work to do," Moira said, her tone cold and level. "I don't need Emily crying about losing someone else, and Tracer isn't going to save herself."


	28. Chapter 28

Moira had been staring at the screen for hours, scrolling through the data for the umpteenth time. She had analyzed Lena's blood work every way she could think of, and still nothing had revealed itself to her. The redhead let out a sigh as she leaned back, rubbing her tired eyes; they felt like sandpaper behind her eyelids, which was becoming an all too familiar feeling.

A hand suddenly nudged her arm, and Moira looked up to see Angela standing beside her, a steaming mug in her hand.

"It's not whiskey, so don't get excited," Angela said.

Moira smiled slightly, her lips twitching as she took the mug. "Careful Doctor, or people will be under the impression that you actually care about me. Unless, of course, you always bring tea to the people you've incarcerated."

"If you keep talking like that, I'm going to change my mind."

The geneticist grinned again, though kept her response to herself as she took a drink from the mug. The tea was hot as she drank, which was really all that could be said for it; the taste had been watered down something terrible, and the redhead couldn't hide her grimace.

"You still haven't learned how to make a decent cup of tea," Moira said, setting the mug aside.

"You know, normal people say 'thank you'—"

"Yes, well, I am not normal—" Moira paused before she could finish that sentence, noticing the slight grin on Angela's face. The redhead made a face before she turned back to the screen.

"I'm going to assume you still haven't found the source of the problem," Angela said.

"No." Moira didn't want to add that she was beginning to suspect this was not a natural sickness, but instead one caused by some combination of her own doing and Arsenic's meddling. If she had been smart, she would have had Sombra swipe some of whatever Arsenic had been injecting Tracer with so she could analyze it, but that time was long gone.

 _Is it possible that whatever she used is still lingering in Tracer's bloodstream?_

It was a possibility, of course, but Moira would have suspected something like that to show up when she was running the bloodwork.

"Angela."

The two women looked up to see Ana standing in the doorway, her expression hard to read.

"You've been watching her for some time; why don't you get some rest?" Ana continued.

"I'm fine," Angela said.

Moira had heard that response so many times that it meant little to her now. Angela's default response to anything was "I'm fine", even when that was the furthest thing from the truth. "Rest would do you good, Doctor; your exhaustion is showing," Moira said.

Angela gave the geneticist a look, but whatever response she had planned was interrupted.

"Go; we'll be fine," Ana said.

"All right; I'll see you in the morning then," the blonde said before she left, leaving the captain and Moira alone.

Silence stretched between them, and Moira could feel Ana's gaze on her.

"The eye patch suits you," Moira finally said after a few minutes.

"A souvenir from your assassin," Ana said as she approached.

"Yes; tell me, what were your thoughts when Tracer attacked you?" Moira couldn't hide the slight grin that played across her features at that. "The great Ana Amari, founding member of Overwatch, brought down by a child."

"Yes, a child; a child that you broke and reformed into a weapon, a child whose life has been utterly shattered. A child who is now dying because of you. You tell me, Moira; how does that feel?"

Moira scowled before she turned her attention back to the screen. "I will not allow Tracer to die—"

"Because you care about her, or because you don't want to lose your weapon?" Ana shook her head. "Why are you really here?"

"I keep being asked that question when I think the answer is fairly obvious; if I didn't know any better, I would think you all suspect me of having some ulterior motives."

"Do you?"

"You wound me, Captain."

"Then explain to me why a wanted member of a terrorist organization would willingly walk into the headquarters of the people who mean to arrest her. You cannot convince me that this is merely due to your concern for Lena."

"What you believe is of no concern to me."

"Angela asked you to come here, so you came. Your history with her is no secret."

Moira suppressed the low growl that threatened to escape at that. "Whatever existed between Angela and myself ended long ago. She has found someone new to amuse herself with anyway, as you well know." A brief pause. "Your daughter is looking well, though I remember her being much shorter—"

"I am sure I do not have to explain to you that staying clear of Fareeha would be in your best interest."

"For your sake, or hers?" Moira looked at Ana, grinning slightly at her expression. "It would appear being threatened by my presence is an Amari family trait."

Ana's expression didn't betray whatever she was thinking at that; she instead said, "It would be a shame if your niece found out the truth about your work."

Moira let out a noise of disgust. "Emily will find out eventually—"

"It will be less easy to explain why her aunt had her parents murdered though—"

"That was not my fault!" Moira was on her feet before she realized it.

Ana was not fazed by such, and merely said, "You created the assassin that did the job. If it was not your fault, then whose?"

"I did not create Tracer in order to destroy my own—" Moira suddenly froze, an idea striking her.

 _Destroying your own self from the inside._

It was right there in front of her; Moira couldn't believe she hadn't seen it before. The geneticist immediately turned away, Ana completely forgotten as Moira began to search the lab.

"Moira—"

"Shut up, I'm working." Moira soon located the instruments she was looking for, and she approached Lena's unconscious form. "I can't believe it took me this long to realize this," the redhead muttered.

"Are you going to explain what's going through your mind right now?"

Moira had hoped that Angela would be present for this epiphany moment, but she supposed Ana was as good an audience as any. "If this is being caused by some foreign substance in Tracer's blood, her antibodies would have destroyed it by now, unless they themselves had been tainted." Moira paused, waiting for some sort of response, but once again, Ana was no Angela. "The problem is not in her blood; it's in the bone marrow itself. Once I extract a sample, I will be able to know for sure."

* * *

Lena's eyes opened weakly, and the first thing she became aware of was the feeling of needles in her arm. The brunette let out a low noise of distress, making an attempt to move, though her limbs seemed to have trouble receiving the order from her brain.

"Easy, or you'll pull those out."

That voice… Lena knew it, though she wasn't quite sure why she was hearing it here. "Moira…?"

The geneticist appeared over her, and Lena's eyes widened slightly. "I never thought I'd actually hear you say my name out loud."

"Why are you here…?" Lena managed to get out, her voice weak.

"It would appear Angela was telling the truth; you do talk more now." Moira helped the brunette sit up before she added, "As for why I am here, that much should be obvious. You went on a bit of self-destructive spree, I hear. Would you care to explain why you felt the need to try and remove your accelerator?"

Lena's gaze traveled downwards, and instead of answering, she merely fell against the geneticist, her forehead resting just under Moira's sternum. She knew she should hate Moira, knew she shouldn't be relieved to see the woman responsible for her suffering, but the redhead was someone familiar, and that was honestly what she needed right now.

Moira had to admit, she hadn't been expecting this type of reaction, and she wasn't entirely sure how to respond. "Come now, enough of that. Answer my question Trace— Lena."

The assassin froze at her name, and she looked up at the redhead. "Lena…?"

"Yes, that's your name; I've been told you've been responding to it."

Lena looked at her hands, which never really felt like they belonged to her. "That's who everyone says I am, but they seem to know Lena better than I do…"

Self-awareness; Angela had told her that Tracer was developing some, but hearing it for herself… it was rather unexpected, but fascinating nonetheless.

"Are you taking me back to Talon?" Lena asked; she had mixed feelings about that honestly. On the one hand, returning to Talon most likely meant returning to a life of pain and being a weapon, but it also meant being with familiar people again, people who didn't eye her suspiciously every time she walked into a room.

Moira wasn't entirely sure how to answer that, and she certainly didn't want Overwatch overhearing any of her plans, so she merely replied, "My purpose for coming was to ensure your survival."

"You didn't answer—"

"Lena!"

The brunette looked over at the sound of her name, and she immediately stiffened when Emily hugged her without warning. Her initial instincts told her to fight back, and it took her a few moments to relax and remind herself that this wasn't an attack.

"Thank god you're awake; I was so worried," Emily said, pulling away and quickly wiping away the tears that were forming in her eyes.

"You were worried about me…?" The concept still seemed foreign to Lena, and all her guilt came rushing back, sitting like a heavy pit in the stomach.

"Of course. After Amélie brought you to Angela, we both were just…" Emily shook her head, hugging Lena again. "I'm just glad you're awake."

"Yes, she's just woken up and you're likely overwhelming her, so take a few steps back Emily," Moira said. She would be lying if she didn't say she had some concerns about what was developing here. Emily would find out the truth eventually, and if she had been led to believe that she could trust Tracer, it had the potential to break her.

Emily scowled slightly at her aunt, but backed off a bit, giving Lena some space. "I'm giving you a pass on this one because I know you're responsible for this."

If only Emily knew just how responsible she was. Moira knew that Emily learning the truth meant she would also be on the receiving end of her niece's wrath, and the geneticist had a feeling that Emily would be far less understanding of the mitigating circumstances involving Arsenic and Moira attempting to keep Tracer from far worse people.

* * *

"You haven't seen Lena yet."

"Because I can't be in the same room as that monster; I can't guarantee I'll be able to keep myself from killing her if I set eyes on her again."

Angela could understand Amélie's feelings; Moira had come to help, but for Amélie, it must be like being tortured all over again. "Moira can't harm you here; we wouldn't allow that—"

"Why didn't you tell me you were bringing her here?" Amélie's tone was as icy as her gaze. "You know better than anyone just what she did to me, what I went through, and yet it didn't cross your mind that maybe you should warn me about her coming?"

"I didn't tell anyone because I knew they would try to stop me—"

"For good reason!"

"But Moira did what she said she would; Lena is alive and awake. Now maybe I would have figured out what was wrong given more time, but the accelerator would have remained broken, and who knows what that would have done to her. I know you hate Moira, and you have every right to do so, but Lena needed her."

Amélie shook her head; she didn't like this feeling. Overwatch had claimed for so long that she was safe with them, but even they seemed to have turned against her by inviting Moira here. "Lena is awake now; Moira has served her purpose—"

"You can't kill her."

"Then at least allow me to return some of the pain she has brought both of us—"

"Torture will not make you feel better; we are not Talon." Angela wanted to stop that train of thought as soon as possible, and it honestly scared her a bit that Amélie would even suggest such a path.

"So what then, she remains unpunished for her crimes?! She is allowed to just wander free around our base?"

"Of course not; we're going to move her to a secure cell—"

"And then what?"

Angela let out a sigh, trying to keep her patience. "I don't know."

Amélie shook her head. "Incarceration is not enough; I want to see that woman punished for the crimes she has committed. You are allowing your past relationship with her to interfere—"

"You mean like you have done with Lena?"

Amélie froze at that, angry that Angela would even think to compare the two. "Lena had no choice in what she was forced to do; Moira O'Deorain chose to experiment on us both. Do not stand there and pretend that our situations are the same because I assure, _Medecin_ , they are not."

* * *

"How have you been eating since your arrival here?"

Lena shrugged. "I eat whatever Amélie gives me."

Moira let out a noise of affirmation. "Lacroix has been the one in charge of watching over you then?"

Lena nodded.

"Interesting, though not entirely unexpected I suppose."

The brunette was silent for a few moments before she said, "Amélie… she was before me, wasn't she? With Talon… and you."

The redhead paused for a long moment, trying to decide how to best answer. "Yes," she finally said, "Lacroix was my first attempt at creating an assassin for Talon. Different from you, though; we had planned to utilize her previous sniper experience."

"What happened?"

"Overwatch happened. They found us and rescued her after about a month. A month of work wasted."

"… Why did you try to turn her blue?"

Moira gave Lena a look. "Becoming rather inquisitive now, aren't you?"

Lena looked down at her hands. "Sorry…"

"In any case, you've regained your voice well enough that I must watch what I say; there are many things Overwatch cannot be privy to knowing."

"I haven't told them anything… they asked a lot of questions."

Moira's brow furrowed slightly; even now, after everything that had happened, Tracer still felt some sort of loyalty to Talon. "I'm sure they were quite perplexed by your loyalty to Talon—"

"Not Talon. You."

Both of Moira's eyebrows rose in surprise at that, and she found herself at a loss for a response. Tracer knew well enough what Moira had done, but the connection she appeared to have formed seemed strong enough to overlook those transgressions.

 _It doesn't make any sense; she should hate me._

"Why?" Moira found herself asking. "I'm sure everyone has expressed that you should feel no loyalty to me of all people."

Lena's gaze wandered around the room as she tried to find the right words to express what even she didn't fully understand. "You made me this way… but you didn't always treat me badly. You came back for me after Antonio's estate, and you tried to protect me from Arsenic."

Moira nodded, pausing for a long moment before she finally said, "I think it is time I told you what happened the day you were brought to me."

-/-/-/-

Moira glanced at the clock on the wall, letting out a noise of derision as she did so. "Behind schedule as usual—"

The door to her lab suddenly opened, the geneticist turned to see a Talon operative entering. She could hear some sort of commotion occurring in the hallway, though she couldn't see just what the issue was.

"You're late," the redhead said.

"The package got a bit unruly," came the short response.

"Well I hope you didn't damage her," Moira said, starting for the hallway. "I've already put one month of work into Lacroix and I don't want—" The geneticist stopped upon seeing just who was causing the ruckus. "I told you to bring me Amélie Lacroix."

"This was the woman in the apartment."

Moira let out a sigh that indicated she was very close to losing her patience, and she set her jaw. "Amélie Lacroix is tall and French. This woman is short and—"

"GET YOUR BLOODY 'ANDS OFF ME YOU TOSSERS!"

"Exceedingly British," Moira finished with a grimace. She caught the struggling brunette's face, her nails digging lightly into freckled skin. "What's your name?"

"Fuck off!"

"Charming as ever, you Brits are. What were you doing in Lacroix's apartment?"

"None of your business!"

"That is where you are mistaken; the Lacroixs are very much my business. Now, be a good girl and tell me where Amélie Lacroix is."

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you! An' you can torture me as much as you want; I'm not gonna tell you anythin'!"

Moira could see a fire burning behind this woman's eyes, and she released the brunette before she straightened up. "I believe you. It would be a waste of resources to look for Lacroix now, and a waste of my time. Congratulations, _leanbh_ , you will be taking her place."

-/-/-/-

"You proved to be a rather difficult subject at first; you were very resistant to the methods I had been using on Lacroix."

Lena looked down, trying to process this new information. "I don't remember that…" She could guess now why she had been in the apartment, but why had she been there without Amélie? "Was… was Gerard there? Amélie's husband… was he there the day I was taken?"

Moira paused a moment before she said, "I am taken to understand that he was executed at the same time you were taken; that had been the plan anyway."

" _Chienne!"_

Moira and Lena both looked up at the angry French just in time to see Amélie storming in, raising her rifle. Some instinct inside Lena stirred (perhaps it was Tracer waking up), and she let out a low growl before she leapt between Moira and the sniper, letting out a threatening noise.

Amélie froze at that; she had never thought that Lena would turn against her. How could Lena put a monster like Moira O'Deorain before her? The sniper chose to direct her anger at the woman who deserved it, scowling darkly at the geneticist.

"You meant to murder Gerard the whole time; if he was the target, why did you want to kidnap me?"

"So you were eavesdropping. And to answer your question, you were a commodity; you would have served Talon well. But perhaps what I ended up with was better," Moira replied.

Amélie shook her head, her hands shaking. "You are a monster, and deserve a horrible death."

"Perhaps, but you are the reason Lena was taken in the first place." Moira placed a hand on top of the brunette's head gently before she added, "I wonder what she would be doing now if you had been in your apartment that day."

That only made everything worse. To know that she was the reason Lena's life had been destroyed… that her association with the brunette had put her directly in harm's way… it was almost overwhelming. "I should just kill you, right here and now."

"Overwatch wouldn't like that—"

"I do not care what Overwatch thinks! You should die!"

"Then pull the trigger." Moira's gaze was piercing, challenging her. "Either pull the trigger or accept my presence here, but make a decision Lacroix."


	29. Chapter 29

"Either pull the trigger, or accept my presence here, but make a decision Lacroix."

It would be so easy. No one would miss Moira O'Deorain; Amélie knew she'd be in trouble afterwards, sure, but her tormentor would be dead. Besides, it was her association with Overwatch that had put her in Moira's path to begin with.

Amélie's finger tightened on the trigger of her rifle as the image of Gerard's dead body flashed through her mind yet again.

 _I am ending this here and now. I am tired of being afraid._

As Lena read Amélie's body language, her eyes widened slightly as she realized that the sniper meant to do it; she meant to end Moira.

"No!" Lena shoved the rifle upwards just as Amélie pulled the trigger. The shot rang through the room, and Lena tackled the French woman, bringing them both to the floor.

"Lena, get off!" Amélie almost shouted. The sniper reached for the rifle she'd dropped, but Lena grabbed her wrist, pinning it down.

"I can't let you kill her."

"Why not?! How can you put her before me? Has she done more for you than I have? She destroyed your life, turned you into a weapon, took you away from me!" Amélie could feel tears starting down her face, both from her own anger at Moira, and from learning the truth surrounding Lena's capture. She didn't want to be crying in front of Moira, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"I know what she's done… but there is more you don't know about her."

"Such as?"

Lena shook her head. "Can't tell you."

Amélie let out a growl of frustration before she shoved Lena off of her and sat up. "I am giving this woman the death she deserves; don't try to stop me."

Lena let out a low growl, lunging for the sniper again as Amélie stood. The French woman easily caught her arm, using her momentum against her and pinning her to the nearest wall.

"Don't try to stop me; you'll only end up getting hurt," Amélie said as Lena struggled against her hold.

"I have to."

Amélie released the brunette, and Lena turned around, her body language indicating that she was planning on trying to fight the sniper again.

"Tracer. That's enough."

Lena paused before she relaxed slightly, going back over to where Moira was. That obedience to the geneticist felt like a blow to Amélie, and she couldn't hide the disdain in her features.

"I must admit, Lacroix, I didn't think you'd be brave enough to pull the trigger," Moira continued, looking at the French woman. "Perhaps I had more of an influence on you than I realized—"

"No."

"You needn't take it so personally—"

"I do."

Moira's lips twitched. "Obviously. In any case, as you can see, continuing to attack me would be a poor decision on your part."

" _Oui_ ; you've turned Lena into your personal bodyguard. One more transgression for which you should be dead."

"I should be dead for many reasons, Lacroix; Fate has just not yet deemed it time for me to part."

The sound of running footsteps stopped whatever response Amélie might have had, and Jack and Angela soon appeared in the doorway.

"We heard gunshots; what happened?" Jack asked as he approached, his own pulse rifle ready.

Moira's multicolored eyes bored into Amélie in that knowing way, and the French woman wanted nothing more than to smack that smug look off her face. "I dropped my rifle, and it discharged," Amélie replied, not looking at Jack as she picked up her weapon.

"Lena, why are you up, you still need to rest," Angela said, moving past the others to where Lena was standing. "Look, you've started bleeding again. Sit down."

"Sorry…"

Jack didn't appear as though he really believed something as innocent as a weapon discharge had happened, but he apparently decided that it wasn't worth getting into. "All right, O'Deorain, you did the job you came here for. Now it's time for you to be moved to a more secure location and await questioning."

Moira frowned slightly. "Well that's not very hospitable of you, Jack."

"Don't make this difficult. Start moving."

Moira paused a moment, looking between the three agents before she let out a dramatic sigh. "I suppose if it will make you all feel better." The redhead started from the room, and action that sent distress through Lena.

"Where are you going?" the brunette asked, making to stand up, but Angela stopped her.

"Don't worry, I'm sure he's just moving me to some plexiglass cell where everyone can gawk at the Talon agent like some sort of zoo exhibit," Moira replied. "Isn't that right, Jack?"

"Just move."

* * *

Amélie was mad at her; Lena knew that much. Once Jack had taken Moira away, the sniper had left without so much as a goodbye. Lena supposed she could understand why; Amélie felt betrayed. She obviously believed that the brunette's loyalty should belong to her, instead of to Moira, yet that was whom Lena had chosen to protect.

 _She has an image of who she wants me to be based on memories that aren't mine._

Lena let out a sigh, rubbing her face. It wasn't that she wanted to be against Amélie; after all, the sniper had been the only person here to stand up for her, to show her real kindness. But all she had seen was a threat to Moira's life, and her instincts had forced her to act on such.

"Hey."

Lena lowered her hands and looked up to see Emily approaching the bed. Her heart rate quickened as she realized that they were the only two in the room, something she knew shouldn't be allowed.

"Hi…"

"How are you feeling?" Emily asked, having reached the side of the bed. There was genuine concern on her face, Lena looked down at her hands; it was too hard to look at something she didn't deserve.

Lena shrugged; she wasn't entirely sure how to answer that. She was alive, but she wasn't sure if she would say she was any better. "Okay, I guess," she finally said.

Emily nodded, pausing a moment before she said, "Where's my aunt?"

Lena struggled with how to answer that without giving away exactly what had happened. "Stepped out," she finally said.

"Oh." Another pause. "It still seems odd to me that she was called here. I mean, I haven't see her in at least a decade; she just cut off contact with my family, and now… well, she's all I have left I guess."

Emily was still talking, but her voice sounded muted and far away, obscured by the sound of Lena's blood pounding in her ears. Her guilt was eating up at her again, and it was just too much, too much, too much—

 _I can't do this anymore._

"Emily."

The redhead stopped at her name. "What's up?"

"I… have to tell you something." Lena's fists clenched tightly as she tried to prepare herself for the truth that was about to come out.

"What is it?" Emily placed a hand over Lena's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You can tell me anything."

 _Say goodbye to ever feeling normal; after this, Emily will hate me forever._

"I…" Lena paused, her voice failing her. She couldn't back out now; Emily needed, deserved to know the truth. Lena's gaze fell on the door to Angela's office, and she slid her legs over the edge of the bed before she stood.

"Should you be getting up—"

"I'm okay… I have to show you something…"

Emily's brow furrowed, but she followed Lena through the door to Angela's office. "Lena, what are we doing here?"

"That night… when your parents were killed… it was me. I was the assassin."

Emily's brow furrowed. "What… why would you say that?"

"Because you deserve to know… I can't keep this from you anymore…"

Emily shook her head. "No. No, this isn't true. I don't know why you're saying this, but you need to stop."

"Emily—"

"No, it wasn't you that night because that—that thing murdered my parents, and you are not a killer, you're not, so just stop!"

Lena let out a sigh; she had feared Emily would react this way, hence why she had brought her to Angela's office. She needed to show the redhead the proof. The brunette opened a drawer, pulling out the helmet from her assassin suit. She took a deep breath, turning back to face Emily.

Emily's gaze fell on the helmet, and Lena could see recognition beginning to set in. "What… why do you have that?"

Lena didn't reply, and it took every ounce of courage she had to put that helmet back on. She had hoped she would never have to do so again, and she immediately felt claustrophobic upon putting it on. There was a pause before the display lit up, and she heard Emily inhale sharply. The eyes must have lit up as well, and Lena knew then that Emily believed her.

It seemed to take Emily a few moments to find her voice, and once she did, it was dangerously soft, but firm. "Take that off."

Lena did so, holding the helmet uncertainly and unable to meet Emily's gaze.

"It was you this whole time…"

"I'm sorry—"

Her apology was cut off with a harsh slap across her face, and Lena recoiled, though she knew she deserved it.

Emily was shaking now, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "Why? Why did you kill them?"

"I didn't have a choice—"

"Bullshite! You could have killed me, but you didn't! You obviously made a choice there!"

"Emily—"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear your excuses, or apologies you don't mean!" Emily began to hit Lena repeatedly, her vision slightly obscured by the tears starting down her face. "Come on, fight back! You killed my parents without a second thought, now fight back you coward!"

"Emily, stop!" Angela was suddenly in the room, pulling the redhead back and stopping her attack. "What is going on here? You know Lena is still recovering—"

"You knew, didn't you?" Emily said, yanking herself free from the doctor's grasp. "You knew the truth! This whole time you all knew what she was, what she had done, and just let her live here and pretend like everything was okay! You let me get close to her…"

Angela's gaze fell on the helmet still in Lena's hands, and she understood then what had happened. "Emily, I know you're upset, and you have every right to be, but try to understand that this isn't Lena's fault—"

"Not her fault?! She's a killer, she admitted it to me! How can you defend her?!"

"You don't know the whole story—"

"What more is there? She broke into my home and destroyed my life, and she won't even tell me why!" Emily made to lunge for Lena again, but Angela quickly caught her and held her back. "Why'd you leave me alive?! Why didn't you kill me that night? What sort of sick game are you playing here?!"

"I'm sorry… I never wanted to hurt your parents, or you," Lena said, hoping her apology sounded genuine; she had hoped that telling Emily the truth would ease the burden of guilt on her shoulders, but she only felt marginally better, if that much.

"Then why did you do it?!" Emily seemed to be overtaken by her emotions at this point, and she sank to the floor, her frame shaking as the tears began down her face. "Why…"

Angela knelt beside the redhead, pulling her into an embrace. Emily held herself close to the doctor, clutching at the front of her lab coat.

Lena watched the two uncertainly, unsure of what exactly she should do now. She had expected Emily to be angry with her, of course, but seeing the redhead break down like this… Lena hated herself all the more for being the cause of it. Her gaze caught Angela's, and the blonde gestured towards the door with her head. Lena understood that that meant she needed to go, and with a sigh, she set her helmet down before she left.

* * *

Moira let out a sigh as she paced the cell for what seemed like the umpteenth time. While being confined didn't make her as restless as it made Tracer, she still didn't enjoy it. Being kept away from her research and her lab, forced to wait and follow Overwatch's schedule, stuck in this cell for who knew how long…

 _This is the decision you made. You chose to come here, knowing the consequences._

Yes, she really had no one to blame but herself.

Approaching footsteps caught her attention, and Moira turned to see Angela on the other side of the plexiglass wall. A small smile played across her lips, and the geneticist approached the wall.

"You know Doctor, if you keep up this type of behavior, I'm going to start falling under the impression that you don't dislike me as much as you claim," Moira said.

"Lena told Emily the truth."

Moira's expression faltered at that. "Oh, I see." The redhead paused a moment before she added, "How much of the truth?"

"The truth about her parents, that she was the one who killed them."

Silence.

"Was that all she told her?" Moira prodded.

Angela shook her head, looking slightly disgusted. "You're more concerned about yourself than your niece—"

"I need to know what she knows—"

"Well, you can rest easy because your involvement is still a secret; Lena won't give you up even to defend herself."

Moira felt slight relief at that, though she didn't appreciate the guilt that accompanied it. "How did Emily take it?"

"How do you think? She found out that the person she'd trusted and started bonding with is an assassin."

"So she was upset then?"

Angela gave the geneticist a flat look. "To say the least."

Another silence passed between them.

"Did you ever think Lena would be the one to tell her the truth?" Angela asked.

Moira shrugged slightly. "Tracer has been unpredictable for some time now; that coupled with her time here means that she could be capable of anything really. I had thought that guilt was an emotion I'd eradicated, but it would appear not."

The blonde sighed. "You still think of her as an experiment, don't you?"

"She still has research value—"

" _Mein Gott_ , Moira—"

"What, you expect me to throw away almost a year of research and work just because of what has happened and where we are?"

"I don't know, maybe I expected you to show some human empathy for once."

Moira paused for a moment before she said, "Tracer is still exhibiting important developments that need to be recorded—"

"Stop calling her that."

A slim eyebrow rose. "That is her name—"

"You and I both know it's not."

Moira let out a sigh, rolling her eyes. "I don't see why you should care so much what I call her; this is just like you, to draw us into an argument about such trivial matters—"

"Don't you even start that with me, Moira—"

"O'Deorain."

Both women looked up at that, and Moira shifted her expression to a more neutral one as Jack approached her cell. "I was wondering how long you would force me to wait. Let's not waste any more time and begin this ill-guided attempt at questioning me, shall we?"

* * *

"You knew, didn't you?"

Amélie turned at the sound of Emily's voice, seeing the redhead standing in the doorway to her room. "Knew what—"

"You knew what Lena was before she came here. You lied to me… told me she was an agent…"

Oh. So Emily knew the truth now. Amélie supposed she should have expected it would get out eventually. "Who told you?"

"Lena; that's really the worst part, isn't it? Everyone keeps telling me they'll keep me safe, but the killer ends up being the only one who actually tells me the truth."

The sniper let out a sigh as she approached the redhead. "We just didn't want to overwhelm you—"

"Don't even start with that crap." Emily shook her head. "And then Angela defends her, tells me it isn't her fault—"

"It wasn't."

"Why does everyone keep sticking up for her? She killed my parents without a second thought—"

"Not because she wanted to."

Emily let out a frustrated noise. "It still feels like you're all keeping part of the truth from me. I want to know what the hell is going on; what do you know that I don't?"

"Look, Lena never wanted to be an assassin, but O'Deorain didn't care about that when she decided to make Lena into what she wanted—"

"Wait, what did you say?"

Amélie paused, noticing the expression on Emily's face.

"Are you saying my aunt had something to do with this?"

Oh, so she hadn't known that part. Amélie wondered for a moment if perhaps she should try to backtrack, but quickly decided against that. Why should she try to protect Moira? Let Emily know the kind of monster her aunt was.

"Your aunt had Lena kidnapped, and spent months torturing her to remake her into the assassin that killed your parents. Lena had no say in the process; Moira O'Deorain took everything from her. If you want to be angry with someone, that's who you should direct your anger towards, not Lena."


	30. Chapter 30

Moira had participated in her fair share of interrogations; never as a primary interrogator, of course. No, she had always been brought in when the subject was… having trouble opening up. She simply helped make them more amicable to sharing information.

Now she was sitting on the other side of the table, and she honestly thought it was rather comical that Jack believed he could make her talk.

"Listen O'Deorain, we're not going to beat around the bush here. You're going to give us the information we want—"

"I'm sorry, but I have to stop you right there," Moira interrupted with a short laugh. "You know I'm not going to answer your questions, at least not in any way that would compromise Talon, so don't fool yourself into thinking you're in control of this."

Jack glanced at Ana, who was standing back in the corner, watching the exchange with a neutral expression.

"Please, consult with your backup, but you'll both come to the same futile conclusion."

Jack turned his attention back to Moira before he said, "Then I suppose there's nothing left to do but turn Lena over so she can answer for her crimes."

Moira's brow furrowed slightly. "What tactic is this?"

"There are several people who would like to get their hands on your assassin and see justice done for the murders she's responsible for—"

"Are you actually trying to use Tracer as leverage?"

"I am just telling you what's going to happen—"

"Except what you're suggesting is a terrible idea that would end in a bloodbath."

"If you want to keep her here, then you need to start talking; otherwise we will treat Lena like any other criminal."

Moira's eyes narrowed, and she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "You would honestly be so ignorant and narrow-minded that you would risk innocent lives merely to get information out of me?"

"If you really believe her to be so dangerous, then stop being so difficult—"

"I am not being difficult; you are just being stupid." Moira shook her head before she said, "Fine, release Tracer back into the real world, away from familiarity and the only people that keep her docile. Talon will snatch her back up before you can even blink, and when the bodies start piling up, don't say I didn't warn you."

The door to the interrogation suddenly banged open, and the three looked up to see Emily standing there, a fire burning behind her multi-colored eyes. Her thin frame was trembling, and Moira had a sinking feeling that her niece now knew the entirety of the truth.

"You made Lena into that—that thing?!" Emily crossed the room in two strides, lunging for her aunt, but Jack caught her and held her back. "It's true, isn't it?! That's why you were called here to help her; you're the one who made her!"

"How did you find out?" Moira asked, doing her best to keep her tone steady and her expression neutral.

The lack of denial told her everything, and Emily's eyes widened. She began to struggle harder against Jack's hold as she yelled, "It IS true! You made her do all those things; you sent her after our family! Your own sister—"

"I never sent Lena to kill your parents, or you—"

"You think I'm going to believe that?" Emily shook her head, and Moira found herself slightly afraid of what her niece might do if she managed to break free from Jack's hold. "Why'd you tell her to spare me? Why didn't you just have me killed that night?"

"I was not responsible for that—"

"You made her! This is your fault, now let go of me!" Emily let out a slight yell of frustration as she continued struggling to free herself.

"Perhaps it would be best of you waited outside, and we can discuss this later—" Ana started.

"I don't want to 'discuss' with any of you; you all lied to me!"

"All right, that's enough. I'm taking you to Angela, and once you've calmed down, we can talk," Jack said before he began to lead Emily from the room.

"No, I am not done here! I won't forgive you for this, Aunt Moira! I won't!"

The door closed, leaving Moira alone with the older Amari. As much as she didn't want to admit it, Emily's parting words stung more than she expected. Of course she had expected anger; it was only natural, and forgiveness was something Moira had thought she could live without. Still… Emily was all that was left of her family now.

It was a conflicting mix of feelings, and Moira didn't like it one bit.

* * *

"Lena."

The brunette looked up, seeing Fareeha and Ana standing in the doorway. They were both holding their weapons, and the sinking feeling in her stomach told Lena that she knew why they were here.

"You need to come with us," Fareeha said, though she looked as though she were merely reciting the words, as if she didn't really have a choice, and would rather be saying anything else.

Lena nodded before she got to her feet. "Where are we going?"

Neither Amari responded to that, which gave Lena all the answer she needed. She supposed she should have seen this coming; between telling Emily the truth and choosing to protect Moira from Amélie, she had worn out her welcome here. Overwatch was going to turn her over to the punishment she deserved now.

"Come on," Fareeha said before she began to walk. Lena followed after her, aware of the fact that Ana was following close behind.

 _Surrounding me… making sure I don't run._

Other agents were stopping in their tracks and watching as the three passed by. Lena almost felt as though she was being paraded through the base on purpose… just a Talon operative for them to all stare at, finally getting what she deserved.

 _Let them stare; I'm sure this is the last time they'll see me._

The three rounded a corner, and Lena's gaze fell on Emily, sitting between Amélie and Angela. Their eyes met, and Emily stood, looking almost as if she had something to say. Lena could feel the guilty knot tugging at her stomach again, and she shifted her gaze, though looking at Amélie wasn't any better. The French woman looked as though she was torn between stopping whatever this was, and just letting Lena go for her betrayal.

Lena wanted to apologize, but she felt as though those words held no meaning, especially not when they came from her, so she instead just said, "I'm sorry I didn't die that night in Venice…"

"Come on," Ana said, nudging her gently.

The three continued walking without waiting for a response, and Lena wondered if that was for the best. What more could be said? The damage was already done, and she didn't expect any sort of forgiveness.

The three reached the main room, where Lena could see Jack and McCree talking. They stopped at her entrance, and the knot in her stomach tightened as they approached.

"You know what we are doing?" Jack asked.

Lena nodded. "Sending me away to be punished for what I've done."

Jack paused a moment before he said, "I'm sorry—"

"Don't." Lena didn't want to hear it; she didn't want them to feel pity for her, or try to make this easier. Overwatch had turned on her, just as Talon had; she had to accept that at this point, there was no one she could fully trust.

"Let's get her on the transport."

Lena could sense something was wrong a split second before it happened. She honestly couldn't explain how she knew; it was just this odd sort of feeling that came over her, telling her that SOMETHING WAS WRONG.

The window nearby suddenly shattered, glass shards raining down and hitting the floor. Other agents jumped back to avoid injury, weapons ready, and Lena's gaze fell on a figure in a suit that somehow looked oddly familiar.

 _That's… that's my suit… or, at least, it's based off my suit._

Lena knew without a doubt that whoever this was, they were Talon.

The figure appeared to be scanning the room, and everyone seemed to be held in a tense silence, waiting for movement.

"Identify yourself—" Jack started.

The figure apparently had no intention of doing any such thing, instead lunging forward with unnatural speed and swinging for the commander. Jack managed to move back just before impact, delivering a swift kick to the figure, which recoiled before straightening up.

It could blink, or at least do something similar, though it couldn't seem to move as fluidly as Lena could; obviously whoever had made this had attempted to copy Lena's abilities with no real access to the same technology.

The sound of shattering glass had brought Amélie and Angela running, and the sniper immediately took up a position on the upper landing, drawing her rifle and focusing on the foreign figure. Something about the way it moved just didn't seem natural, almost as if it wasn't entirely in control of its body. It reminded Amélie somewhat of a marionette controlled by someone who didn't quite know what they were doing, and it sent a cold shiver down her spine.

 _Is this another Talon victim, or something worse?_

"We really need to tighten security; people just keep walkin' in here!" McCree said amid the gunfire (none of which seemed to be fazing the figure, despite the fact that it had been struck more than once).

"What's going on—"

The figure's head snapped around at the sound of Emily's voice, and Lena knew then that Emily was the reason that thing was here. In that moment, a single, pervasive thought entered Lena's mind.

 _I have to keep Emily safe, whatever it takes._

The figure only managed to take one step towards its target before Lena blinked forward, catching it around the middle and throwing it back. The figure, assassin, whatever it was, slid backwards before getting up, though it seemed to look right through Lena, keeping its gaze on Emily.

The brunette took a defensive stance, a low warning growl escaping from the back of her throat. The figure faux blinked forward, and Lena quickly blinked as well, catching it again and bringing it to the floor.

Before Lena could think to strike it, the figure delivered several swift blows to her face. A knife slid out from a small panel on the arm of its suit, and it thrust the blade into Lena's side.

Lena jerked as the knife entered her side, and pain immediately coursed through her. The figure removed the knife before hitting her again, forcing her off. It got back to its feet, only to recoil as one of Amélie's bullets sunk deep into its chest. However, much as it had done before, the figure simply shook the wound off, instead continuing forward towards Emily in that same, marionette style of walking.

"I don't understand; how can this thing keep going with so many bullet wounds?" Amélie said.

"Perhaps Talon has erased any trace of humanity from this assassin," Angela said, her tone cold.

Lena forced herself to get up, her gaze falling on the figure still approaching Emily.

 _This thing won't stop unless we stop it…_

Lena knew then that she would have to do something terrible; she would need to embrace every instinct Moira had programmed into her in order to stop whatever this thing was.

"You can't have her!" the brunette growled before she blinked forward, catching the figure again and throwing it back. This time, she blinked again, forcing it back down before she began to land blow after blow to its helmeted head.

The figure drove its blade into Lena's side again and again, but the brunette had tuned all other senses out. All she could feel was that old rage, the one she had fought so hard to keep buried since arriving here.

The blade entered her side again, and this time, Lena seized the figure's wrist, snapping their hand off before she could even think about it. If she had been in her right mind, she would have noticed the lack of blood at the action, but all her frenzied brain registered was that she had a weapon now.

Lena let out a feral yell as she drove the knife into the figure's helmet, watching the lighted eyes flicker a few times before going out. The brunette withdrew the knife and thrust it into the figure's neck this time, once again too caught up to notice the lack of blood, or anything even like it.

 _Kill it, kill it, don't let it hurt Emily, this is my fault, I have to make this right—_

"Lena! Lena, enough!"

The brunette barely registered the sound of her name, and when she felt someone grab her wrists from behind, she let out a growl, struggling to free herself.

"Lena, it's dead!" Amélie said, her voice strained as she fought to subdue the brunette. "Drop the knife!"

Lena finally seemed to regain herself enough to listen, the knife falling from her hand and clattering to the floor. The sniper turned her around so they were facing each other, and Amélie studied her face, trying to read her expression.

"Lena?"

Finding her voice again seemed a struggle, and Lena finally managed to get out, "Had to protect Emily…"

Amélie glanced at the redhead, who was sitting on the floor, pressed up against the wall and seemingly paralyzed. "You did… you kept her safe."

Lena nodded, wincing and moving a hand to her side as the pain began to catch up with her.

"Come on, we need to get you to Dr. Ziegler," Amélie said as she helped the brunette stand. Lena leaned against her heavily as they began to walk, leaving a small trail of blood as they did so.

The sight of such seemed to break Emily from her trance, and she got to her feet, approaching the two. "Lena…"

It was the first time Emily had spoken to her since knowing the truth. Lena looked over at the redhead, still finding it hard to meet her gaze. She was ashamed that Emily had had to see her that way, in such a frenzied and violent state. "Are you okay…?" the brunette asked.

Emily nodded. "I… I'm fine, but that thing…" Her gaze fell on the heavy bloodstain on Lena's shirt, as well as the blood still oozing from between Lena's fingers. Would it have done that to her if Lena hadn't intervened? It seemed almost crazy to want to thank Lena, especially considering that the painful truth was still raw in Emily's mind, but how could she not? She had seen it with her own eyes; the same person who had killed her parents had just risked her life to keep the redhead safe. She had been stabbed several times, yet hadn't stopped until that thing was dead.

"Lena!" Angela came running to where they were, looking as though she wasn't quite sure whether she should help the brunette, or finish the job the Talon operative had started. "You should have let us take care of this—"

"I had to protect Emily…" Lena stumbled a bit as her legs shook, but Amélie had a firm grip on her, and kept her from falling. "Need to see Moira…"

That was an unexpected request, and Angela wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "You need medical attention—"

"Have to talk to her…" Her speech was faltering, and forming complete sentences was becoming more difficult.

Lena had already lost a good deal of blood, and it was obviously beginning to have an effect on her. Angela knew she needed to treat the brunette immediately before it grew worse, so she said, "All right, just let me take care of your wounds, and then you can talk to Moira."

* * *

Something had happened. Moira knew that much, but unfortunately, that was all she knew. She could hear some kind of commotion occurring, the kind that's accompanied by gunshots, and the redhead grew more restless as the minutes dragged by. Her mind ran through the possibilities of what could be happening, though it seemed to favor the scenario where Talon discovered what she'd done, and decided that if she liked Overwatch so much, she could die with them.

The eventual appearance of Lena and Angela told her that she would live to see another day (if the good doctor didn't throttle her first).

"You all sound like you had a rousing time out there," the geneticist said as the two approached her cell. Her gaze fell on the way Lena was holding her side, as well as the dried blood under her fingernails. "What trouble did you get into now?"

"You tell us," Angela said, crossing her arms.

"I'm sure I don't know; in case you hadn't noticed, I've been stuck in this cell."

"A Talon agent broke in, one dressed suspiciously like Lena when she showed up here the first time. It appeared to be here for Emily, and our attempts to stop it proved rather fruitless. Lena finally managed to take it down—"

"Not Lena. Tracer."

Moira looked down at the brunette, an eyebrow arching. "Elucidate."

"I knew I had to stop it… bullets weren't working… so I became Tracer again… killed it…"

It was silent as Moira processed this new information. Lena apparently believed that Tracer was still a part of her, a part of her that she could access if she felt the need. That was interesting, and a development that Moira hadn't even considered.

"Lena… where is Tracer now?"

Angela looked ready to protest, and Moira put a hand up, stopping her.

"Asleep again…"

"And if you wanted to, if you felt the need, could you wake her?"

Lena paused a moment before she nodded.

"Have she been asleep the whole time you've been here?"

Lena nodded again. "I've been trying to behave… to keep from waking her up…"

This was fascinating, and Moira lamented the fact that she had no way to record it (other than her eidetic memory, of course).

"Moira… the thing... it could blink… kind of."

Moira's brow furrowed at that. "What do you mean, kind of?"

Lena made a vague gesture with her hands, as if that would help. "It could move quick… but not as… smooth?" The brunette looked at Angela, her expression asking for help.

"It appeared as though someone tried to remake Lena, but they were forced to use their own technology," Angela supplied.

"I see." That was not good news. There were only two people who knew enough about Tracer to try and recreate her, and one was currently incarcerated.

Angela recognized the expression Moira was wearing; it was one she had seen too many times during the course of their marriage. "You know something."

"I know a great many things, Doctor."

"Don't try to evade the subject; you know something about this that you're not telling us."

"Arsenic," Lena said, the name bringing back a slew of unpleasant memories she had hoped to keep buried.

Moira nodded, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. "Arsenic."

"I don't understand; what does a poison have to do with all this?" Angela asked.

"Not a poison in the sense you're thinking, Doctor, but a far more dangerous kind; the kind that can think and act for itself."

"What are you talking about Moira?"

The geneticist let out a sigh before she said, "There may be someone else who had access to my research… the real mind behind the murder of Emily's parents."


	31. Chapter 31

"I'm surprised you let me out; not worried that I'll try to do something nefarious?"

Angela gave Moira a look. "I could put your right back in your cell if you'd prefer—"

"All right, easy Doctor." Moira grinned slightly, though she supposed the fact that she was dressed in little more than plain white scrubs didn't hurt. The most dangerous part about her (aside from her judgmental gaze) was her nails. The redhead looked down at the would-be assassin lying on the table in front of them, the knife still stuck it the side if its neck. The appearance of the suit it was wearing was similar to Tracer's (a little too similar for comfort, if Moira was being completely honest).

"Does this look familiar?" Angela asked, noting Moira's silence as the geneticist looked over the figure.

"If you mean familiar in the sense that someone has tried to replicate my work, then yes. However, if you mean familiar as in having seen this particular assassin before, then no." Moira frowned as she lifted the figure's arm, looking at the where Lena had severed its hand. "I can tell you now, this is no human; I see no evidence of flesh or bone, or even bleeding from this wound."

"That would explain why it didn't stop, even when it had been shot multiple times." The way the figure had walked and moved replayed itself in Angela's mind; Amélie had described it as a marionette with an inexperienced handler, and the doctor wondered if perhaps the sniper hadn't been so far off.

Moira let out a noise of affirmation, letting the arm drop. "Let's see who's under the mask, shall we?" The redhead took hold of the helmet and pulled, though it refused to move, instead staying put. The geneticist scowled slightly before she pulled harder, though was met with the same result.

"Having trouble?" Angela asked, a slight tease in her voice. "Perhaps I should call for assistance—"

"There is no need to call in your muscled eye candy," Moira growled, not appreciating the pricks of jealousy that brought. "Too bad for her there is no correlation between muscle and brain size—"

"You do realize that that would not benefit you either, what with your build—"

"We are not talking about me!"

Angela smiled slightly, but that quickly faded. It was easy, too easy, to fall back into these old habits with Moira; she knew her decision to end their marriage had been the right one, and nothing would change her mind about that. Still, it had been easier to accept that hard truth when Moira had been so far away, associating herself with Talon, but to actually have her back here… well, it made things a little more complicated, to say the least.

Moira managed to recompose herself before she said, "In any case, it would appear the helmet is hiding little more than circuitry."

Angela's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, there is no human or omnic behind this helmet. I suppose that makes sense; it took me months to create Tracer, and it would take time to create another like her. This is merely a poor attempt at using my research to create an assassin, and I would suspect that it was done in a very limited amount of time."

"Why? Why would Talon send an assassin here if it was so poorly made?"

"Because this wasn't the work of Talon, not as a whole anyway."

Angela knew that tone; Moira knew something, and wheedling it out of her would be no easy task. "That person you mentioned earlier… Arsenic… you said they were behind the death of Emily's parents?"

Moira looked at the blonde before she let out a sigh. "Yes, Arsenic was the one who sent Tracer after my family. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say she is still bitter that Tracer managed to spare Emily."

"So you think she wants to finish the job?"

Moira shrugged, not really keen on sharing more about Arsenic, or her motives for wanting the O'Deorain line destroyed.

"Moira—"

"Does Jack still intend to send Lena away?"

Angela paused, caught off guard by the sudden change in subject. "I… I don't know. Everyone is still reeling from this most recent attack, and honestly, I don't know what we would have done had Lena not been here. I'm sure we would have stopped it eventually—"

"But by then it could have already killed Emily." The thought chilled her more than she cared to admit, and the redhead shook the feeling off as best she could. Emily was alive; the person who had been sent to kill her had now saved her twice. "When Lena attacked this intruder… how did she appear?"

Angela could recall the frenzied way Lena had attacked the assassin, and how she had barely seemed to feel the knife every time she was stabbed. "It was as if her mind went somewhere else… as if she was right back in her suit. She must have been stabbed at least five times, but she never seemed to feel it… just kept attacking."

Moira nodded, looking at the multiple knife wounds in the would-be assassin. "It is as she said: she became Tracer again, and without her blades, she was forced to improvise."

"Moira… Lena believes that Tracer is still inside her, still a part of her that she can access."

"So she said."

"If she holds onto that belief… she'll never be able to fully recover."

"Based on what you have seen, do you really think it is only a belief?" Moira fixed Angela with an almost cold look. "When I started my work, I was under the impression that I had eradicated Lena, and that she was only Tracer. When there were signs that the reconditioning was wearing off, I was forced to accept that Lena still existed, and could not be erased, but now it appears to be more complicated than that. Tracer is another identity within Lena, one that she considers to be 'sleeping', but can be awakened when necessary. I never expected this outcome, but it is truly fascinating."

Angela let out a sigh; there would be no arguing with Moira on this point. The geneticist would always see Lena as an experiment, no matter what happened. The redhead was brilliant, of course, but there were times where she was just a little too dedicated to her science, so much so that she ignored the damage she was causing.

"That may be true, and if so, we need to find a way to get rid of Tracer so Lena can heal. Don't you think she deserves that chance after what she's been through?" Angela said.

Moira didn't respond to that, instead clasping her arms tightly behind her back.

"Moira."

"You are asking me to help you eradicate all the work I have put into Lena."

"I am asking you to help me save a young woman's life." Angela's expression went sad for a moment as she added, "There was a time we used to do that together... and I wasn't afraid of what your answer would be."

* * *

Lena winced as she reached for the box of tea on the shelf, but her side protested rather strongly at that action, forcing her to stop.

"Lena?"

The brunette froze at the voice, looking over to see Emily standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "H-hi…"

Emily paused, looking down at her fidgeting hands before she looked back up at the brunette. She honestly wasn't sure how she should feel right now; on one hand, she was still angry with Lena for what she had done, taking her parents away from her. But on the other… Lena had been the one to tell her the truth, and had saved her from the would-be assassin.

It was an odd place to be mentally, and Emily didn't like it.

"Why did you spare me that night?" the redhead found herself asking.

Lena had been asked that question so many times, but never by Emily herself. She paused for a few moments before she said, "There was a fog… in my head… but something told me that killing you was wrong…" It wasn't a very good explanation, but it was all Lena had. She couldn't explain her actions beyond that, because even she didn't know the whole reason behind why she'd been able to stop herself.

Emily seemed to be processing that, and she took a step forward (making Lena a little more nervous than expected). "Lena… did..." Emily's voice caught in her throat, almost as if she were suppressing a sob. "Did my aunt tell you to… you know… did she send you—"

"No." Lena wasn't sure how Emily had learned of Moira's involvement, but she didn't want Emily to think that her aunt had been behind these murders. "Moira didn't send me… I was sent to kill her family to hurt her…"

Emily's brow furrowed at that. "What… what do you mean?"

"I can't…" Lena shook her head; she didn't want Emily to know about Arsenic, or what she had put the brunette through. "Just… it's not Moira's fault."

"Well it's partially her fault; she did this to you, didn't she?" Emily crossed her arms and shook her head. "I feel like I don't even know her anymore."

Silence fell between them, and Lena fought the urge to begin scratching at the skin of her arms again. She didn't know what Emily wanted, or what the redhead expected from her. She had every right to be angry, to hate her, and Lena was prepared for that, but this… the brunette wasn't sure how to respond to this.

Emily took another step towards her, and Lena's heart began to beat a little quicker. The redhead took her wrists gently, lifting her arms slightly and looking down at the scars on her arms, scars she had given herself with her own scratching and clawing. Lena felt herself growing self-conscious under Emily's gaze, and part of her was tempted to just pull away and retreat.

"Did it hurt?" Emily asked, her voice soft. She looked up at the brunette, and Lena wondered if Emily could hear her heart pounding inside her chest. "When my aunt… did this to you?"

Of course it had hurt. Lena's earliest memories from Talon were nothing but pain; pain when she had been kept in the darkness, pain when they had forced her into that suit, pain when Arsenic had strapped her to that chair… everything with Talon had been pain; that was how they had kept her in line. Still, as Lena looked into Emily's multi-colored eyes, she couldn't bring herself to say all that out loud.

Instead, the brunette nodded and said, "Yes, but losing who I was hurt more than any of the physical pain."

Silence. Lena began to wonder if perhaps she had said something wrong, but before she could even think of how to remedy that, Emily pulled her into a tight embrace. The brunette's eyes widened, and she froze, having been entirely unprepared for this.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you," Emily whispered.

Lena felt a warm wetness on her neck, and she quickly realized that Emily was crying. Crying and apologizing to her, the person who had killed her parents and almost killed her.

"Not your fault," Lena muttered.

"But my aunt did this to you. Someone whose blood I share, someone I grew up with." Emily tightened her hug a bit, burying her face into Lena's neck. "I'm so sorry…"

Lena could feel Emily trembling as the redhead cried, and she slowly brought her arms up to return the embrace. She wished she knew what to say to comfort the redhead, instead of just standing here awkwardly holding her.

Footsteps caught her attention, and Lena looked up to see Amélie standing in the doorway, taking stock of the situation. Her expression must have conveyed some sort of plea for help, because the sniper approached and said, "Everything all right?"

Emily finally pulled away, wiping her eyes as she said, "Yeah, we're fine. I was just… clearing the air."

Amélie nodded, and silence passed between them.

"Anyway, you were doing something before I came in, and I guess I kind of interrupted you," Emily continued, looking at Lena.

"Well I was trying to reach the tea, but my side…" Lena said, gesturing to the tin in question.

"Ah." Amélie easily took the tin down, handing it to the brunette.

"Thanks…" Lena took the tin, looking down at it uncertainly before she looked back at the sniper. "Amélie… what happened before… I wasn't… I didn't mean…"

"We don't need to talk about it," the French woman said.

"I wasn't trying to choose Moira over you…" Lena took Amélie's hand gently, not sure how to explain what had happened without making it sound like she was making excuses. "Please…" The brunette looked down at their hands, hoping that this would express what she was asking for.

Amélie looked at the brunette, noting the sad and pleading expression she was wearing. She supposed she should have known that it wasn't entirely Lena's fault that she chose to defend Moira, but that didn't lessen the sting. "I know _cherie_ … we are both the victims of her cruelty."

* * *

"Come on you little pink puffball—"

Sombra's computer suddenly beeped at her, and the hacker paused her game, switching the screen. Her eyes widened as she read through the now deciphered information in front of her, and she pulled up another screen, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Oh, this is not good."

* * *

" _Okay, well I have good news and bad news."_

Moira started at Sombra's sudden voice in her ear; before she'd left, the hacker had insisted on putting a communicator implant in the geneticist's ear. It couldn't do much, but it would allow them to communicate, and it was too small for even Overwatch's sensors to pick up.

Moira's gaze shifted to where Angela was sitting at her desk, scrolling through her tablet and taking notes. "I am in no mood to play these games with you; just tell me what you have," she said, her voice low.

" _Remember those programs I had running, trying to crack the encryptions on Arsenic's files? Well, I finally managed to open one_."

"This is not the time for the dramatic, Sombra. Give me the details."

" _Basically, Arsenic was injecting Tracer with some sort of… mental override mixture during every session. It would cause her so much pain that she would black out, and her brain would just go into killing instinct mode. The more Arsenic did it, the more violent Tracer would become_."

"Is that all?" Moira had suspected something like that had been occurring, and this information wasn't exactly helpful at the moment.

" _Patience, Doctor. Now, during the last session, right before she sent Tracer after your family, Arsenic injected her with a new mixture called Dormant Phase 1_."

"That doesn't sound promising."

"Hmm?" Angela looked up at the geneticist before she added, "Did you say something?"

"Just thinking aloud; don't mind me, Doctor," Moira replied.

" _Spending time with the good doctor, are we? I see you had ulterior motives to visiting Overwatch—_ "

"Don't get distracted," Moira growled. "Return to what you were saying before."

Moira could practically hear the grin in Sombra's voice as the hacker said, " _Right, of course. Anyway, this mixture was designed it to stay in Tracer's system indefinitely, and once she's exposed to the trigger, shit is going to hit the fan_."

"Did she specify what the trigger was?"

" _Unfortunately not; it might be in one of her other files, but listen, you can't let Tracer out of your sight. This could have been what Arsenic planned all along—"_

"You're suggesting that she knew what I would do?" Moira didn't like that implication at all. To think that Arsenic could find her so predictable… it was insulting, and made Moira's blood boil. "Did the files specify what exactly is supposed to happen when she's exposed to the trigger?"

" _Not in detail, but it can't be anything good. Look, the bottom line is that you need to make sure Tracer doesn't get exposed to whatever the trigger is_."

Sudden gunshots rang out, followed shortly by the sound of an alarm.

" _What is that?_ " Sombra asked.

"I believe it may be too late."


	32. Chapter 32

" _I believe it may be too late."_

Lena could tell that something was wrong, just like before, when the would-be assassin had attacked. Except this time, it was more than just a vague feeling; something was wrong with her. She could feel it, in some deep part of her… it reminded her of how she felt when Tracer wanted out.

But this wasn't Tracer. This was something worse.

"Lena?" Amélie's voice sounded miles away, and Lena had a terrible feeling that she wouldn't be in control for much longer.

 _No… I don't want to hurt them…_

"Lena, what's wrong?"

"… Run…" It was all Lena managed to get out before her mind slipped back into that dark place.

* * *

The warning immediately put Amélie on high alert, and she took a step back, putting an arm out to keep Emily back.

"What's wrong, what did she say?" Emily asked, her gaze fixed on Lena, who was currently doubled over in apparent pain. She was clutching at the scarred skin of her arms, almost as if trying to stop something that desperately wanted to escape.

Amélie didn't have a chance to respond because at that moment, there was the sickening sound of flesh being cut as flat pieces of bone came ripping through Lena's arms, sending blood dripping onto the floor.

"Oh my god… they're blades," Emily said; there was no way she would ever forget those weapons.

Lena looked back up at them, eyes completely black, and Amélie could see no recognition in them. The sniper wrapped an arm around Emily's waist before she shot her grappling hook at the rafters, yanking them both away just as Lena lunged for them with a feral yell. Her blade came so close that Emily could feel it rush past her head, severing a few strands of her hair.

"What's wrong with her?" Emily asked as Amélie retracted her hook and pulled her rifle off her back.

"I don't know, but until we deal with it, you won't be safe. Stay here," Amélie said before she shot her grapple above the doorway leading out.

"Amélie."

The sniper paused upon feeling a hand on her arm, and she looked back at Emily. "I can't stay with you; I need to draw Lena away from here—"

"Please don't kill her."

That hadn't been the request she'd been expecting, though she had to admit, a part of her feared that this time, Lena wouldn't stop until someone put her down for good.

"I can't promise that, but I will do my best to save her," Amélie said before she jumped from the rafters, swinging through the door and firing at Lena. The brunette let out a growl before she chased after the sniper, following her as she swung through the door. Once through, Amélie quickly closed the door and smashed the control panel with the butt of her gun, rendering it useless enough that Lena couldn't re-enter. The destruction of the panel also triggered the alarm, which only seemed to anger Lena further.

 _Trapped with an enraged killer… how are we going to survive this?_

* * *

The sound of Angela's phone going off caught the doctor's attention, and she picked it up. "Emily? Where are you?"

"I-I'm up in the rafters by the kitchen. Oh my god, Angela, this is so bad—"

"Just calm down and tell me what happened."

Moira seemed to pick up that something wasn't right, and wasn't even making an attempt to hide her concern.

"It's Lena; we were just talking in the kitchen, and she just—she lost it. These awful things came out of her arms, like blades made from bone, and she just attacked us! Amélie managed to draw her out of the room, but I don't know where they went." Emily seemed to be approaching a hysterical state, and there was the sound of her choking back a sob. "Angela… what's going to happen to her?"

"I don't know, but we'll do what we can to save her. Just stay where you are, all right?" Angela hung up the phone, fidgeting with it before she put it back in her pocket.

"Is Emily okay?" Moira asked.

"She's not injured, but I fear she may go into a state of shock soon."

Moira nodded before she said, "It's Tracer, isn't it?"

"Emily said some kind of blades made from bone came out of her arms?" Angela gave Moira a hard look. "Is this something you engineered and neglected to mention to us? Is this some sort of final attack on our base—"

"I did not plan this."

"You've already altered Lena's mind; modifying her genetic code so something like this would occur is right up your alley—"

"While I'm flattered you acknowledge my prowess in the area of genetics, I must reiterate that this is not my doing."

"Well what is it then, Moira? What would make her suddenly lose control?"

The redhead paused for only a moment before she turned back to the would-be assassin on the table, picking up the knife and examining the blade. "It was a decoy all along… and I fell for it, just like everyone else."

"What?"

Moira shook her head; as much as she hated Arsenic, she had to acknowledge the scientist's foresight and planning (which was something she also hated). She was smarter than Moira had given her credit for, and that was her mistake. A mistake she was paying dearly for now.

"Arsenic knew Tracer would wind up here; all she had to do was bide her time, wait for everyone to begin to trust her. This assassin was not sent here to kill anyone; it was merely a vessel for the trigger that would activate the already dormant one inside Tracer's blood. Arsenic knew that if Emily was threatened, Lena would try to defend her, and all she needed was an injection method, hence the knife." Moira shook her head, dropping the knife. "Tracer is far more dangerous than anything Arsenic could create."

Angela had a troubled look on her face, and she shook her head before she said, "This is what I had been afraid of, all those years… that you would eventually lose yourself in your 'science' and create something far more dangerous than you realized."

Moira let out a low growl at that statement, which felt more like a slap in the face than anything. "I can control Tracer—"

"But it was you who made her this way! You just admitted it yourself, Tracer is exceedingly dangerous—"

"Yes, she was designed that way, but I know how to handle her, regardless of what Arsenic has done. I just need my biotic devices back, and I can diffuse this situation."

Angela was looking at Moira incredulously, as if she had suggested jumping off the HQ roof in an attempt to fly (without her Valkyrie suit, of course). "You want your biotic devices back?"

"I know you heard me, and we do not have time to stand here arguing. Like it or not, you need my help. I am the only one who can bring Tracer back from this."

"How do I know I can trust you—"

"Angela, I don't want her to die, and if you let the others handle this, they will kill her!"

The blonde was taken aback by Moira's outburst, as well as the genuine expression of emotion on her face. She couldn't recall Moira ever feeling this way about anyone; she truly did want to save Lena's life.

Angela let out a sigh before she said, "All right, but understand that this is only to save Lena's life. As soon as this is over, you give up your biotic devices immediately. Understand?"

"Perfectly."

* * *

Amélie had never realized just how dangerous Lena could be. The brunette was utilizing her blinking to its maximum, and it was taking everything the sniper had just to stay out of reach of the bone blades. She knew she should take any shot she could get, but Emily's words hung in the back of her mind, along with her own reluctance to injure Lena.

Amélie began to grapple away as Lena came at her again, but the brunette had apparently been anticipating such. She blinked into the air and swung, her blade cutting through the sniper's grapple line. As Amélie began to fall, Lena blinked into her, pinning her to the floor upon impact. Lena drew her arm back as she prepared to strike, and Amélie struggled to free herself.

"Lena, please, try to fight this!"

Lena's black eyes showed no glimmer of recognition or even comprehension of the sniper's plea, and Amélie's stomach tightened as she tried to brace herself for the pain to come.

"Get back!"

A concussive blast slammed into the brunette, throwing her off Amélie and sending her skidding across the floor.

"Are you all right?" Fareeha asked, coming up to the French woman's side and offering her a hand. "Can you stand?"

"Yes." Amélie took the offered hand, and Fareeha easily hauled her to her feet.

"Good because I think I made her angrier."

Lena had gotten back to her feet by now, and she let out an angry noise, her gaze fixed on the two women.

"What's the plan?" the younger Amari asked, never letting her eyes leave Lena.

"I don't know…"

"If I keep her back, can you get a clear shot?"

"I'm not going to kill her."

"Amélie, look at her; she's obviously not the person you remember, and right now, she's a serious threat to everyone unless we do something."

Amélie didn't want to, just couldn't accept that this was the end; that Lena was so far gone, she needed to be killed. "There has to be another way; maybe we can—"

"Amélie—" Fareeha wasn't able to finish because at that moment, Lena blinked forward with a feral yell. Fareeha managed to catch the brunette as she came out of her blink, pinning her to the nearby wall.

"Listen, if you don't want to end up dead, you need to calm down and snap out of this!" Fareeha shouted as Lena struggled against her hold.

Lena made no motion to indicate she'd heard the younger Amari as she continued struggling, and Fareeha let out a growl.

"Amélie, just do it!"

She was asking her to take the shot… to fire a bullet into Lena's head and kill her. The very thought seemed too terrible to consider, and Amélie found herself rooted to the spot.

"What are you waiting for? I can't hold her forever; take the shot!"

If it were Angela against that wall, Fareeha wouldn't be acting like this was so easy. No one knew Lena like she did, no one knew what she'd been through, or knew the person she'd been before Moira ruined her life. Her hands still refused to lift her rifle, refused to point it at the woman she'd once loved (and still loved, in a way).

"Amélie—"

"Fareeha!"

Fareeha looked over at the sound of her name, and that brief distraction was all it took. Lena managed to break free, and brought her blade up, catching Fareeha across her torso and just catching her throat. The younger Amari's hand flew to the spot as she fell back, and Amélie could see blood oozing from between her fingers.

Time seemed to slow, and suddenly she felt as though she were back in King's Row, watching Ana bleed out on the cobblestones. Another Amari injured because she had hesitated, because she had chosen Lena over her team.

Lena was on the fallen Amari in a second, driving one of her blades into Fareeha's shoulder. She raised her other blade, but Amélie finally came to her senses at that moment and fired, the bullet striking the edge of Lena's blade and taking a few pieces with it. The brunette blinked back with a growl, her gaze focusing on Amélie once again.

"Oh my god, Fareeha—" Angela made to step forward, but Moira caught her arm, stopping her.

"You run in there now, you'll just create another victim," the redhead said. "Let me draw her away first."

"And how long will that take?" Angela spat, angry tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "You would just leave Fareeha to bleed out."

Moira set her jaw as she said, "This has nothing to do with whom you're currently sleeping with, but simple common sense about the danger of a scene. I would think that your training as a combat medic would have taught you that basic lesson."

If Angela knew that Moira was right, she didn't admit it, instead drawing her blaster and running forward.

"Angela—!"

Lena turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, and she crouched with a low noise at the sight of Angela.

"I don't want to have to shoot you Lena, but I will if you don't—"

Lena blinked forward, and Angela raised her blaster, prepared to fire, but she felt a hand on her shoulder yanking her back. Another hand was thrust over her other shoulder, and she could see familiar purple nails.

Lena stopped upon being caught in Moira's biotic grasp, and she let out a few noises of anger as she struggled in vain to fight off the purple beam.

"You've been causing quite a bit of trouble," Moira said, pulling Angela behind her as she stepped forward. "I know this hurts, but it will continue until you calm down."

Lena finally blinked out of range with a yell, watching Moira from a distance away.

The geneticist took a few steps forward, stepping unceremoniously over Fareeha, but still putting herself between the injured Amari and her attacker. "I know what Arsenic did to you; I should have seen it sooner, should have done something to stop her. I made a mistake by underestimating her, and you have suffered for it. For that, I apologize."

Lena was watching Moira carefully, backing up as slowly as the geneticist approached.

With Lena distracted, Angela made it to Fareeha's side, kneeling beside the younger Amari and gently moving her hand away from her throat so she could inspect the wound.

"Just hold on Fareeha, you're going to be all right," Angela said, doing her best to keep her voice strong.

From where she was almost backed up against the wall, Lena's gaze fell on Angela kneeling beside the fallen Amari, and she let out a warning growl.

Moira noticed the action, and she glanced back to see what was irritating the brunette.

 _Being denied the kill perhaps?_

Moira didn't have much time to ponder the situation because Lena blinked forward at that moment, making a wide arc around the redhead. Moira lunged for the brunette and thrust her hand out, but Lena was too quick and too far for her biotic grasp to catch. The geneticist turned and summoned a biotic orb, taking only the time to shout, "Angela, move back!" before she threw it forward.

The orb sailed through the air, soon latching onto Lena and sapping her energy. The brunette stumbled at the pain, letting out a feral yell. However, while it slowed, the orb's path didn't stop there, and it soon latched onto Fareeha and Angela as well.

Angela inhaled sharply at the sudden pain, and she could feel herself growing weaker. Moira had told her to run, but how could she just leave Fareeha? Perhaps this was what the redhead had had planned all along, and like a fool, she had given Moira the very tools she needed to kill them all.

"You're killing them!" Amélie shouted, raising her rifle and taking aim for Moira. Angela never should have trusted this monster; once Moira finished with them, Amélie just knew she would be next. She needed to stop the redhead before she could do any more damage.

"Save your energy Lacroix; you and I are the only ones able to save your precious Lena now," Moira said, moving forward and catching Lena in her biotic grasp again.

The orb finally released its hold on them, and Angela fell onto her side, trying to catch her breath, her muscles feeling as though they'd been filled with lead. She could see Lena writhing in pain before blinking away again, and Moira was suddenly leaning over her.

"Why didn't you move?" the redhead asked.

"I couldn't… leave Fareeha."

Moira shook her head. "Doctor—"

There was the sound of a door being forcibly knocked down (Moira had disabled the control panel upon entering to avoid unnecessary interference), and the redhead looked up to see the rest of the team entering.

 _Perfect._

"Everyone stop right where you are," Moira called as she straightened up, her arms outstretched.

"O'Deorain—" Jack started, his expression telling her that he was just looking for a reason to shoot her.

"You have entered a very delicate situation, and your appearance has the potential to make it much worse, so unless you wish to die, I suggest you all stand back," Moira continued.

"Stand down, O'Deorain."

Moira's brow furrowed slightly. "Stand down? Perhaps you didn't hear me; it can happen in one's old age. I am the only thing standing between your precious team and a very gruesome death."

Ana's gaze had reached her fallen daughter by now, and she took a step towards her.

"Stop! You approach your child now and you'll be joining her," Moira warned. "The good doctor has already learned that lesson."

"What have you done, Moira?" Ana asked, her voice dangerous and bitter.

"I have done nothing but protected your sorry team. Now, all of you need to just stand back and allow me to handle this. I am the only one who can bring Tracer back from this—"

There was a sudden, odd pain in her abdomen, and Moira glanced down to see the tip of a bone blade poking through her stomach. She chuckled slightly even as a trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. "Tracer… you aren't exactly helping your case." The geneticist glanced back at the brunette, surprised to see a single tear running down her face.

Lena pulled her blade free, letting Moira stagger forward before collapsing, holding her bleeding wound. For her own part, Lena seemed to be paralyzed by what she had done; some shred of humanity had emerged upon attacking Moira, and she appeared to be at war with herself.

A bullet sinking into her leg quickly snapped her out of that, and Lena blinked back with a growl, her gaze shifting towards Jack.

This is what Moira had been afraid of. The others didn't understand why Lena was behaving this way; all they saw was a threat that needed elimination. The redhead knew she would need to do something in order to save Lena's life, but first, she needed to heal her wound.

 _Or…_

No. No, she couldn't even consider that.

 _She's closer to death than you are…_

Moira glanced over at the younger Amari, who had gone very still. Angela still seemed to be trying to recover from the effects of the orb, and had lost her staff a few feet away. Moira glanced at the gauge on her device; just enough healing left to save one life. Of course, there was always the chance that Angela could recover and retrieve her staff in time, but Moira could see that the choice had been made for her.

Moira placed her hand over Fareeha's wounds, summoning her healing biotic and watching as the wounds slowly began to close. After about thirty seconds, Fareeha opened her eyes with a gasp, and she eventually focused on Moira.

"Take care of Angela; do not waste my gift," Moira said before she forced herself to get up, moving between Lena and the others.

"O'Deorain, move out of the way—"

Moira ignored Jack (as usual) as she strode forward, catching Lena in her biotic grasp, only this time, she made sure it was turned up to its maximum power.

Lena let out a noise of pain, backing away from the redhead. She looked as though she wanted to blink, but just couldn't seem to summon the energy. Eventually, Lena fell to her knees, and Moira soon collapsed as well, struggling to remain conscious.

"Lacroix… the accelerator…" she managed to get out.

"Don't ask me to kill her—"

"If you want Lena to live, then Tracer needs to die!"

Amélie raised her rifle, her hands shaking. She didn't trust Moira to tell her the truth, and yet she found herself looking at Lena through her scope. Every memory from King's Row came flooding back, every moment they'd spent together, and Amélie could feel a tear running down her face.

" _Adieu, cherie_."

She pulled the trigger.

Lena recoiled as the bullet sailed through her accelerator, shattering the glass face and exiting through her back. The brunette froze for a few moments, and Moira released her biotic grasp, watching as Lena collapsed beside her. The blackness slowly faded from her eyes until they had returned to normal, and were focused on the geneticist.

"Moira…"

Moira smiled ever so slightly, dangerously close to being pulled into unconsciousness. "I think it is time… you and I accepted… that neither of us should exist."


	33. Chapter 33

Sunlight was falling across her face, pulling Lena into consciousness. She raised a hand weakly to shield her eyes as they opened, and her world slowly came into focus. Her gaze fell on something wrapped around her arm, and she raised her other arm, letting out a wince at the pain that brought. Both were wrapped in white bandages, and the brunette could see a few red spots bleeding through.

Lena pushed herself up into a sitting position, wincing again at the sharp pain in her arms as she put pressure on them. Her gaze wandered around the room, soon falling on the figure in the bed beside her. "Moira…"

The geneticist's eyes were still closed, and the only sign that she was still alive was the steady rise and fall of her chest (which was almost imperceptible). Lena wasn't quite sure what had happened, but she had a feeling that this was her fault.

"You're awake."

Lena looked over at Angela's voice. "What happened…?"

"I figured you wouldn't remember anything." Angela approached the brunette, and Lena winced again as she shifted. "Your arms?"

Lena nodded, and Angela moved to examine her bandages.

"Why are they…?"

"Moira didn't fully explain, but from what I understand, this Arsenic altered your bone structure and waited. The other assassin who broke in, the one you stopped from hurting Emily… it was a decoy. When you were stabbed, you were injected with some other substance, and it caused bone growths to come from your arms in the form of blades. The surgery to remove them was successful, if a bit unlike anything I've done before."

Lena looked down at her bandaged arms, unsure of how to reply. Once again, she had been used to hurt people… would she ever be free to live her own life again? Would she always have to fear being at the mercy of another?

"Lena… what is the last thing you can remember?"

Lena closed her eyes, trying to recall. "I was with Emily and Amélie… and then I felt something happening…" The brunette looked back at Angela, fear in her eyes. "Are they okay? I tried to warn them…"

"Yes, Emily and Amélie are safe."

That was good at least, but Lena had a feeling that there was more. She looked over at the still unconscious geneticist and added, "Moira… what did I do to her…?"

"It doesn't matter; she will survive—"

"I need to know what I did."

Angela paused, considering her next words carefully. "You attacked Fareeha, severely injuring her. The others came in and when Moira put herself between them and you, you attacked her."

Lena felt her heart drop into her stomach, and she looked down at her hands, clutching at the sheet. Her fear had been realized; she had been the one to hurt Moira. In a way, it was almost too much. What she had become was Moira's fault, of course, but that still didn't mean Lena had wanted to hurt her. "And Fareeha…?"

"She will survive as well. Actually, it's really a miracle that all of you survived this ordeal… we have Moira to thank for that, surprisingly." Angela looked towards the redhead's bed, hoping she wasn't feigning sleep just to hear the admittance that she had been right all along. "She healed Fareeha enough to keep her alive long enough for me to get to her..." Angela didn't add that Moira had chosen to save Fareeha over her own self, or what her last words had been to the younger Amari. In all honesty, those words still hung in her mind, and the implications behind such were too heavy for Angela to dwell on now.

"My accelerator…"

Angela pulled herself from her thoughts to see Lena looking down at her darkened accelerator. The glass face had been repaired, but the red light remained off.

"That was one of the reasons I feared you might not wake up. Amélie shot a bullet through your accelerator at Moira's behest, something about killing Tracer so Lena could survive."

Lena looked down again, placing a hand over the darkened glass face as she wondered if that could really be true. Could Tracer be killed and leave Lena behind? She had accepted that Tracer would always be a part of her, and while the assassin's presence felt much farther away, it was still present.

"In any case, you are awake now, and you need to regain your energy. I'll be back with something for you to eat," Angela said before she left, leaving the brunette alone. The room was silent for a few minutes, and Lena let out a sigh, leaning back against the headboard.

"Well, this must delight Angela to no end."

Lena looked over at the redhead's voice, seeing Moira sitting up slowly, an expression of pain on her face and a hand holding her stomach. "Moira… you're awake…"

"It would appear so." Moira attempted to move her other arm, only to find it handcuffed to the bed railing. "This must be that Overwatch hospitality I've heard so much about." The redhead looked over at the brunette, her gaze falling on the darkened accelerator and her bandaged arms. "I see Angela managed to successfully remove your bone blades, and you've even regained consciousness despite Lacroix destroying your accelerator."

"Moira, I…" Lena's eyes began to fill with tears, and she swiped at them, sniffling a few times. "I didn't want… I just…"

"Stop; I so detest apologies and tearful confessions. I know this wasn't your choice, and we both survived. That is all that matters."

Lena nodded, wiping at her eyes and nose again. "Is it true, what Angela said… you told Amélie to shoot my accelerator to kill Tracer?"

Moira shifted, wincing at the pain in her torso. "Yes; I had a suspicion that shutting down your accelerator would contribute to calming you down; if anything, it would make you less mobile and dangerous."

"But what if it killed me…?"

Moira was silent for a few moments, but before she could say whatever response she had prepared, Angela re-entered the room, holding a small tray of food. The doctor paused upon seeing the conscious geneticist, a hundred thoughts beginning to race and crowd through her mind.

"Moira," was all she trusted herself to say.

"Angela." The redhead lifted her handcuffed arm as much as it would allow, jingling the chain slightly. "Your kinks are getting a little out of hand, Doctor—"

"Good to see impalement doesn't affect your personality," Angela said flatly. She approached Lena's bedside, gently setting the tray in her lap. "Eat this slowly; I don't want you throwing it all back up."

Lena nodded before she picked up a piece of toast, beginning to eat.

"And what am I, chopped liver?" Moira asked.

Angela gave her a look, and the redhead put her hands up defensively (as much as she could). "You're lucky to be alive; honestly Moira, what were you thinking—"

"I was thinking that I did not want your trigger happy team killing a child," Moira growled.

"Maybe they should have…"

Angela and Moira looked at Lena, whose gaze was down. "Lena, this wasn't your fault—" the blonde started.

"But Arsenic could make me do this again… she could make me hurt people if she wanted to, and she just gets away with it—"

"No; we may actually be able to use this to catch her this time."

Lena's brow furrowed. "How?"

"I have to agree with Lena; I don't follow," Angela added.

Moira gave them both a look before she explained, "Arsenic expected Lena to kill everyone, and maybe even die in the process. Either way, she's going to want Lena back; she has value both dead and alive."

"Thanks?"

Moira rolled her eyes at Lena before she continued, "If this base goes dark, then Arsenic will assume it's safe to return. No movement, no communication in or out."

"What makes you think she's monitoring the base?"

"I doubt she is right now; too risky. But if we broadcast a fake emergency call, we can catch her attention, and we could trick her into coming here."

Despite herself, Angela smiled slightly. "For all your talk about despising Overwatch, you certainly are speaking in terms of 'we' quite a bit."

Moira scowled at that. "Very amusing Angela. If you must know the truth, I have no interest in bringing Arsenic to justice; my reasons for wanting to catch her are entirely selfish. She has crossed the line with me too many times, and now I want to deal with it the way I deal with things."

"What does that mean?"

"In the interest of keeping you innocent, that is all I wish to say about this."

"Moira—"

"Will it work?" Lena asked. "This plan…?"

"There is no way to know for sure until we try it, but I do believe it has a very good chance of drawing Arsenic out."

"Say we do go along with your plan; who do you plan to have make the emergency call?" Angela asked.

"I have just the person in mind."

* * *

"Why on Earth would I help you?"

Moira had to hold back the annoyed growl that threatened to escape. "You're not helping me personally; you're helping Overwatch catch a dangerous Talon operative."

Emily shook her head. "I can't believe that you would even think you could just talk to me like nothing has happened—"

"Emily, whatever problems you and I have, they are completely separate from this."

"Are they though, because if I've followed the chain of events correctly, this woman is the reason my parents are dead, and that would never have happened if you hadn't done whatever terrible things you did to Lena." Emily shook her head. "I don't even understand what possessed you to do that to Lena in the first place; were you just bored?"

Moira set her jaw before she said, "This is not something we are going to get into right now."

"Except for you, those words mean 'I'm never going to tell you the truth about this'."

The geneticist let out another low growl, wincing and putting a hand to her torso as she shifted. "You're going to make me pop a stitch, and then our good doctor will have both of our heads."

Emily watched her aunt, holding her crossed arms close to her body. She wanted to hate her aunt, and a large part of her did. How could she forgive what this woman had done? She was supposed to be her family, and instead she was the reason Emily's life had been shattered. Still, when she had heard that her aunt might die too… well, she would be lying if she said that a few tears hadn't been shed. As much as she wanted to completely hate Moira, she just couldn't.

Moira let out a slow breath, focusing as the pain ebbed away. "Listen to me; if you continue acting like a petulant child and refuse to do this, then you will be allowing the woman who had your parents murdered to run free. Is that something you can live with?"

"That isn't my fault—"

"But it will be if you do not do this."

Ah, there was that Irish Catholic guilt her family had perfected over the years, still as effective now as ever. Still, Emily would be lying if she said she didn't want to catch the responsible party, and she let out a long sigh. "Fine, but I'm doing it to catch her; this isn't anything for your benefit."

"Of course."

* * *

"So here's what you're going to be saying—"

"You wrote up a script for me?"

"Of course; this is important, and we can't have you botching it," Moira replied.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Emily said, rolling her eyes.

"Spare me your sarcasm and listen; you need to sound as though Lena injured you, but you managed to escape long enough to send this broadcast," Moira said, sliding the script towards Emily.

"What is this at the end?" Emily asked, pointing to the last line.

"That is where Tracer finds you and finishes the job—"

"Moira!" Angela's voice was sharp, and Moira noticed how pale Emily had gone.

The geneticist cleared her throat, running a hand through her hair before she said, "Yes, well… look, it's obviously not real, but it needs to sound convincing. Arsenic won't believe that Lena would spare you a second time."

Emily looked over the script for a few moments longer before she said, "This better work…" Her voice had gone soft, and she looked distant for a moment, almost as if she were somewhere else. She shook her head before she added, "Okay, let's get this over with."

"When you're ready, hold down this button and start talking; that will begin the transmission," Moira said. "Remember, it has to sound convincing; we only have one chance. The moment Arsenic realizes this is a trap, we lose her—"

"I get it, lots of pressure, now shut up."

Moira made a face, but took a step back, watching her niece.

Emily took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before she opened them and pressed the button down. "Please… if anyone is out there and can hear this… my name is Emily Donovan. I'm at the Overwatch base in Zürich… we're under attack… so many agents have been killed. Please, please if you can hear this… please send help…" The redhead let out a shuddering sobbing noise, and Moira had a feeling that her niece was no longer acting. "Please… I can hear her coming… she's going to find me—oh god, no, please! Don't—" Emily released the button, ending the transmission, and the room was silent.

"Emily…?" Angela asked gently.

The younger redhead took a shaky breath, wiping her eyes and clearing her throat. "So now what?"

"Now we wait."

* * *

The Overwatch base had been silent for a few days now; no activity in or out. Arsenic had heard the last transmission, of course, though she had to admit that she wasn't entirely sure of its authenticity. Still, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that Tracer had managed to wipe out the entire base; after all, the trigger had been designed to make her the perfect weapon. And in all honesty, the temptation of seeing for herself what Tracer had done, especially to Moira of all people… well, it was too much.

After four days of radio silence and no activity, Arsenic decided that she had to see for herself the fruits of her labor, as well as collect Tracer, whether she was dead or alive.

The base was silent as Arsenic entered, and she looked around the main room, half expecting some sort of resistance. When she encountered none, the scientist continued, making her way up the staircase. Upon rounding the corner, her gaze fell on the first signs of Tracer's rampage, namely deep gouges in the walls and dried red stains. Arsenic continued down the hallway and soon rounded another corner, her gaze falling on a huddled figure.

"Tracer; there you are. I'm surprised to see you still alive."

She was here. Just like Moira had anticipated. Of course, they had all moved into position upon her approach, but actually having to face her again... Lena took a deep breath before she straightened up slowly and turned to face the scientist. Her fists clenched as Arsenic approached, and it took more willpower than she'd anticipated to keep herself from attacking.

"What happened to your blades?" Arsenic asked, pausing a few feet from the assassin; either she wasn't afraid of being attacked, or she didn't think Lena a threat. "Did they break off during your rampage, or did you break them yourself?"

"… Made me do this…"

Arsenic let out an amused noise. "Unlike O'Deorain, I saw your true potential, and I helped you achieve it. You've single-handedly eliminated almost the entirety of Overwatch, including several high-ranking members. Once we return to Talon—"

"No."

Arsenic let out a short laugh. "Don't be difficult; there is nothing left for you here. You have done your job." A small smirk played across her lips as she added, "Tell me, how did the young O'Deorain look when you finally finished her off?"

Lena didn't reply, instead clenching her fists tighter.

"Keeping that to yourself, I see. Very well. Before we go though, take me to O'Deorain's body. I want to ensure that everyone knows she died alongside her precious Overwatch."

Sharp nails suddenly wrapped around Arsenic's neck from behind, pressing against her throat threateningly. "I hate to inform you, but Fate has not yet deemed it to be my time."

Arsenic began to reach for her pocket, and Lena let out a warning growl.

"I would reconsider, unless you want a bullet between your eyes," Moira said, gesturing with her head towards where Amélie was stationed high in the rafters, watching the scene through her scope. "You left so suddenly before; now it is time for us to settle everything between us."

Arsenic paused for a few moments, and Lena feared what she might have planned. However, the scientist put her hands up in surrender as she said, "Well played, O'Deorain, though perhaps you should have reconsidered throwing your lot in with Overwatch. You'll have to play by their rules now."


	34. Chapter 34

Jack let out a sigh, rubbing his eyes as he said, "Okay, let's go over this again. What happened to Arsenic?"

"After arriving at the base, she refused to surrender to our agents, and we had no choice but to eliminate her."

-/-/-/-

She was here. Their trap had worked, and now Arsenic was here. Oh, they wouldn't let Emily see the scientist, of course. She was only a civilian, and Arsenic was far too dangerous.

 _Bullshite. She isn't getting off the hook that easily._

Still, Emily knew it wouldn't be easy getting at the scientist. She was currently being held in the high security interrogation room, and access was limited. No one in Overwatch was going to allow her in, even if she asked or had supervision, but Emily wasn't going to just give up.

"Lena."

The brunette looked up from where she'd been making her tea, her heart rate picking up as it usually did when Emily approached her. "Hi…"

Emily leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "That was brave of you… facing Arsenic."

Lena half-shrugged. "Did what I had to."

"It still couldn't have been easy… we've both suffered because of her." Emily let out a sigh before she said, "Lena… I need to confront this woman. She took everything from me, and forced you to do her dirty work."

Lena wasn't sure she liked the sound of that, and she let out an unsure noise from the back of her throat. "I don't know…"

"Lena, please." The redhead took her hand gently. "She's been hiding in the shadows long enough; we are going to take back the power she's held over us."

Lena paused a moment before she nodded; she supposed she could understand Emily's desire to confront this woman. "We have to be careful… Arsenic is tricky."

"We will be." Emily gave her hand a slight squeeze before she added, "The room she's in requires a keycard, so we'll have to swipe one."

"Won't be easy… I can't blink anymore since my accelerator is broken."

"We can still do it. Just follow my lead, okay?" Emily led the brunette from the kitchen, and the two eventually ended up outside Angela's office. "Just keep her busy and I'll do the rest."

"How?"

"I don't know, tell her your arms are hurting or something."

Lena looked down at her still bandaged arms, scratching at them a bit. They did hurt, a dull pain, but nothing close to what she'd experienced before, and certainly not enough to bring up to Angela. In a way, Lena felt she deserved the pain; a reminder of what she'd done.

Emily's expression softened at Lena's silence, and she reached over to place a hand gently on Lena's arm. "What happened… what you did… it wasn't your fault."

"People keep saying that, but I still did it…" Lena looked back up at the redhead before she added, "How can you even stand to be around me? What if this happens again? Whatever Arsenic did to me could still be in my body… I could be set off again if I ever come in contact with the trigger."

Emily paused a moment before she said, "You spared me once, and then saved my life... I won't lie, I don't think I'll ever be able to fully trust you, but that isn't your fault. I think over time, Arsenic's hold over you will weaken, and I believe you're strong enough to keep resisting."

Silence passed between them.

"Are you ready?" Emily asked.

Lena nodded; she didn't feel great about deceiving Angela, but Emily obviously needed this, and Lena wondered if perhaps she herself needed this too.

"You go first and distract her. I'll go in afterwards and get the card. Meet me around the corner once we're done."

The brunette nodded again, and Emily pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, which caused her face to grow hot and turn pink.

"Thank you."

Lena nodded again before she headed inside the office, her heart dropping slightly at the sight of both Angela and Moira (with the redhead back in restraints, of course).

"I believe I deserve a chance to confront this woman—"

"You know I can't allow that."

Moira let out a low growl. "Without my help, your team would still be scrambling to figure out what had happened; now you have a high value Talon member in your custody."

"Your desire to confront Arsenic is purely personal—" Angela stopped short upon seeing Lena, and both women turned their attention to her. "Lena; is something wrong?"

The brunette paused a moment before she said, "My arms…"

"Oh, have they been hurting again?"

"Don't like the stitches… they itch."

"You haven't been messing with them, have you?" Angela approached the brunette, examining her bandages for any signs of attempted tampering.

"Speaking of, you didn't happen to keep the bone blades you removed from her arms, did you?" Moira asked.

Angela let out a sigh, knowing full well why Moira was asking. "Everything is a research project to you, isn't it?"

"Despite what Arsenic did, you cannot deny the fact that she altered Lena's bone structure."

"Yes, in a horrifying way."

Lena's gaze fell on Emily, who was creeping up behind the two, and she did her best to keep from overly staring at the younger redhead. Still, her actions did not go unnoticed by Moira, whose eyes narrowed, though she said nothing.

"Well, there isn't much I can do about the itching; it's going to happen as part of the healing process. Just leave them alone so your body can recover, all right?" Angela said.

Lena nodded; by now, Emily had managed to swipe the card and make her escape, which Lena took as her cue to leave as well. "Okay… thanks."

-/-

Now the two were standing outside the interrogation room, looking through the one-way window. It was strange seeing Arsenic incarcerated like this. For so long, Lena had been the one restrained and at the mercy of others, but now, the roles had been reversed. Sitting in that chair, Arsenic looked so unassuming, and it was hard to believe that had once held power over anyone. Lena hadn't been sure what to expect in this situation; what could she even say to the scientist that would matter?

She glanced over at Emily, who was staring at Arsenic, her multi-colored eyes slightly clouded over. "Emily?"

"I'm fine," Emily said, her voice sounding devoid of emotion before she slid the keycard through the control panel. The light turned green and the lock clicked, allowing the door to slide open.

Arsenic looked up as the two entered, a slight smile playing across her features.

"You know who I am?" Emily asked, standing across from the scientist.

"Of course. The only person to ever stare Tracer down and escape unscathed," Arsenic replied. "You must tell us how you managed that."

Emily didn't reply, instead reaching into her pocket and pulling out a pistol, aiming it at Arsenic's forehead.

"Emily—" Lena started; she hadn't realized the redhead had gotten her hands on a weapon, and she wondered if she had made a mistake, helping Emily get in here.

"You murdered my parents; you ruined my life for no good reason. I never did anything to you, and you just came in and destroyed everything I knew. Why?"

"I did not kill anyone; the person responsible is standing next to you—"

"I know Lena was the assassin, but you made her do it! You twisted her mind and forced her to come into my house and…" Emily's voice was shaking, and Lena could see a few tears running down her face. "This is your fault, and now you can't hide anymore. You're going to pay for what you've done."

Arsenic gave Emily a look before she shook her head. "Child, stop this act and put that weapon down before you injure yourself. Your scare tactics do not intimidate me, and I know full well that you have no intention of actually shooting me. You and your aunt, you both share the weakness of Overwatch, and that is holding yourself to some imagined standard of ethics and moral. This idea that a system of justice should be used to judge those whom you deem criminals, when in reality Overwatch is just a gang of hired military watchdogs. Did you aunt tell you she used to work for them, in a secret branch that used the exact same methods as Talon?" Arsenic turned her attention to Lena, who didn't care for that in the slightest. "You will always be one of my greatest accomplishments; it really is a shame that O'Deorain allowed herself to be limited by something as pathetic as compassion."

The scientists looked back at Emily, who had yet to say anything else. "Are you still under the belief that this will somehow cause me to repent? You and I both know you're not going to shoot me. You are just like your aunt; pathetic and weak and a slave to what's 'right'."

Emily looked down for a few moments before she looked back up, a dark look in her eyes. "You're wrong," was all she said before she pulled the trigger.

-/-/-/-

Jack pulled out another file, opening it as he said, "Lena Oxton and Emily Donovan have both been officially reported as deceased; what happened to them?"

"Whether it was seeing Arsenic again, or some unknown source brought in by Arsenic herself, something set Lena off. She lost control, this time losing herself far too much to be brought back. We were forced to eliminate her as well, but not before she fatally wounded Emily."

-/-/-/-

It all happened so quickly that even if Lena wanted to stop her, she wouldn't have been able to. Of course, there was no love lost with Arsenic's death; the scientist had tortured her for so long and forced her to do horrible things. Death was deserved, but now the issue was with the fact that Emily had been the one to do it. Someone who had been an innocent civilian before was now a murderer, and Lena knew just how heavy that could weigh on someone's mind, even if their victim had deserved it.

For her own part, Emily seemed rooted to the spot. She was still holding the pistol at Arsenic's head, not even reacting to the blood spatter that was currently on her face and clothing.

"Emily…?" Lena reached up and put a hand on the pistol, gently taking it from her.

"She's dead… just like that…" Emily's eyes still seemed unfocused, and her voice sounded as though it were a recording. "This woman took everything from me… and now she's dead… it was so easy…" The redhead finally looked at Lena, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "She terrorized us both… I let her hold so much power over me… and in the end she died just as easily as my parents…"

"I know…"

Emily let out a shuddering sob before she said, "Why don't I feel better?"

Lena didn't know how to respond to that; she didn't know how to put into words that feeling, which was one she had felt before.

The sound of approaching footsteps caught their attention, and both women looked up.

"We'll tell them I did this—" Lena started.

"No, I can't let you do that; besides I'm the one covered in her blood, and this place has cameras for sure; they'll know it was me."

"But Arsenic was bad—"

"It's okay Lena… I have to take responsibility for this."

Lena didn't like this; it felt like Venice all over again. Good people being punished for putting cruel people down.

Angela and Ana suddenly came into the room, and as they surveyed the scene, it didn't take them long to put together what had transpired.

"Emily… what did you do—" Angela started.

"You can't take her," Lena said, moving between the Overwatch agents and Emily.

"Lena—"

"No, you don't know the horrible things Arsenic did… what she put me through… made me do." The brunette's fists clenched as memories of pain came rushing back in, and she did her best to force them away. "She deserved this."

"You cannot just take justice into your own hands like this—" Angela stopped as Ana placed a hand on her arm before she took a step towards the two.

"Lena, give me the gun," the captain said gently.

Lena hadn't been aware that she was still holding the gun, or that she had taken on a slightly threatening stance. The brunette paused a moment before she handed the weapon over to Ana.

"Now, why don't you take Emily upstairs so she can get cleaned up; perhaps without drawing attention to yourselves?"

Lena's brow furrowed; she was just letting them go? This had to be some sort of trap, or part of a larger plan.

"Go on, before others show up," Ana added.

After another brief pause, Lena nodded, glancing back at Emily and offering the redhead her hand. Emily looked at her hand, as though her brain were still trying to process what had happened, before she took it. The brunette led Emily from the room, leaving the two agents alone.

"Ana, this is serious; a prisoner was murdered while in our custody, and by a civilian no less," Angela said as soon as they were alone.

"Can you blame her?"

"Wha—stop trying to justify this; murder is murder—"

"And yet, we forgive Lena for what she has done, and she has killed many more people."

"That was a different situation; Lena did not know the difference between right and wrong. Emily was in full control of her faculties; she knew exactly what she was doing when she brought that gun in here, and when she shot Arsenic."

"So you are telling me that if you had the chance to confront the people who killed your parents during the war, you would have simply let them go?"

Angela stopped at that, not appreciating her family being dragged into this. "Don't," she said softly. "Do not compare those two situations."

Ana let out a sigh before she said, "Do you remember when I left Overwatch for a time?"

Angela nodded.

"I was beginning to have my doubts about Overwatch and my status here, much like the feelings Amélie has been experiencing. I questioned just how much good we were really doing, especially when Talon had such a far reach, and our efforts seemed to do little against them."

"What does that have to do with—"

Ana put a hand up, indicating she was not finished. "I came across many fugitives during that time, fugitives who had done terrible things. By all accounts, they should have been handed over to Overwatch for judgment, but then I asked myself why. If I had the shot and the chance to put these people down, why shouldn't I take it? Why should I wait until more people are injured or killed?"

Angela opened her mouth, and then closed it. She had never heard the captain speak this way, and she honestly wasn't sure how to respond to being told this by a founding member of their organization.

"Emily has the unfortunate bad luck of being related to Moira O'Deorain, and has paid the price for her aunt's mistakes. Now, you tell me; do you think it fair to punish her further?"

-/-/-/-

Jack nodded. "Agent Lacroix has left our ranks as well."

"Yes; she was the one who fired the shot that killed Lena. After everything she's been through… that was the final straw. She has since resigned, in order to take time to recover."

-/-/-/-

"Lena!"

The brunette looked up at the sound of her name, getting to her feet and making her way up the path to the cabin.

"Watching the waves again?" Amélie asked with a knowing smile.

Lena nodded. "It's calming."

The French woman ruffled Lena's spikes gently before she said, "Come, it's time to eat."

Lena nodded before she followed Amélie inside, settling in her chair at the table.

"Hold on, that's broccoli you're putting on the table," Emily said as Amélie set a few plates down.

" _Oui_ , and you're going to eat it because it's good for you."

The redhead muttered something in Gaelic under her breath, but served herself some of the vegetable nonetheless.

As she watched the two, Lena found herself once again finding it hard to believe that this was real. Their relocation to Scotland had been done in one furtive night, giving Lena barely any time to say goodbye.

" _There are many people who will still want to hold you accountable for your crimes, and Talon will never stop hunting you. This relocation is for your own good."_

"… _But it means I'll never see you again?"_

 _Moira paused a moment before nodding once. "Trust me, that is for the best."_

 _Lena tried to imagine what that would be like. Through all her faults, Moira had been a consistent factor in her life, one she had grown attached to. Leaving her would be like leaving everything familiar, and starting over. The brunette didn't know what to say, so she instead hugged the redhead tightly._

 _The action caught Moira off guard, and she resisted her initial urge to pry Lena off. "Don't act so sentimental; you'll be all right."_

Now they were here, not terribly far from some old castle (Kingair, or something like that?), and Lena still had a hard time grasping that this was what the rest of her life would be like. Living in relative peace with two people who, by all accounts, should hate her, but chose to take care of her instead. Oh, she knew well enough that she was still a threat; deep in her subconscious, she knew Tracer still lived. Weakened, but alive, and ready to take over again should Lena give her the chance. It was why Amélie kept her rifle close.

 _I won't let Tracer out again… no matter what. I am in control now… I am Lena Oxton._

-/-/-/-

"And what of Moira O'Deorain?"

"She managed to overpower several agents and escape. Her current whereabouts are unknown, but we assume she has returned to her position within Talon."

-/-/-/-

Lena was gone; they had spirited her and Emily away under cover of darkness after a very brief goodbye. With her assassin gone and Arsenic dead, Moira knew that her own judgment was inevitable now. She was the only prize left for Overwatch now, and they were going to want to milk that for all it was worth, she had no doubt.

Footsteps caught her attention, and the redhead turned to see Angela approaching with Fareeha in tow. The younger Amari currently had her arm in a sling, and Moira imagined her injuries would leave scars, but her condition was far better than death in any case.

"Come to collect me for my hearing, Doctor?" Moira asked.

Angela didn't reply, instead unlocking the door and opening it.

Moira's brow furrowed, and she wondered what sort of trap this was. "Are we no longer on speaking terms?"

"How careless of me, to leave this door open and allow a Talon prisoner to escape."

Moira's eyebrows rose at that; this certainly wasn't protocol. The redhead stepped out of the cell, looking between the two women. "Well, this is very unorthodox; care to tell me why I am making my great escape?"

"Moira, you are not a good person."

"Ouch."

"But with everything that happened with Lena, and Arsenic… it is a complicated situation, one that you acted admirably in multiple times. It… reminded me of the woman I used to know." Angela paused and took a breath before she said, "So I am calling it even, just this once."

Moira looked at the younger Amari, who didn't look entirely pleased with the situation, but wasn't protesting. "And you agree with this?"

"A life for a life. You could have let me die, but you didn't. After this, my debt is repaid. But know this, O'Deorain: if I ever see you again, I will not hesitate, and I will show no mercy. You understand?"

Moira nodded. "I would expect nothing less." The redhead turned her attention back to Angela and gave her a slight bow before she said, "I do hope our paths cross again someday, Doctor."

Angela gave her a slight smile, though there was a sadness behind it. She pushed herself up on her toes, pressing the gentlest of kisses to Moira's cheek before she softly said, "I don't."

-/-/-/-

Jack sighed again, looking at the small team assembled in front of him. "I suppose that settles everything. Just remember that no one outside of this room knows the truth, and we need to keep it that way."

The three women nodded, and Jack nodded in return.

"You are all dismissed."

-/-

"Welcome back, Doctor _Pelirrojo_."

Moira waved Sombra off as she entered the facility, the door closing behind her.

"How was your vacation?" Reaper asked.

"Overwatch hospitality is as expected; poor sleeping accommodations and ghastly dining options. I would not recommend it."

The two followed Moira as she made her way to her lab, and Sombra hopped up to sit on the counter, which immediately irked the redhead.

"And Tracer?"

Moira paused a moment before she replied, "Safe."

"And Arsenic?"

"Dealt with."

"Is that all you're going to give us?" Reaper asked.

"That is all you need to know, now both of you, get out of my lab. I have fallen behind enough."

There was much grumbling, but Sombra and Reaper left, leaving Moira alone. The geneticist paused for a few moments before she opened one of her desk drawers, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. She poured herself a generous amount and took a long sip, letting out a satisfied sigh afterwards. Another pause before she opened a new document on her computer, setting the glass down as she began to type.

 _A question that has been posed by more than one person through history is thus: is it possible for a human being to be reprogrammed, to forget who they were and become something else entirely? Through the course of my research, I have come to find that the answer is more complex than a simple yes or no. The brain can be rewired, and the body can be broken, but the human spirit… it seems to remain undaunted, emerging time and time again. A person's will to remain who they are, or to return to the person they once were… that cannot be erased. Such was the case with Tracer, formerly Lena Oxton, and the subject of this study._

Moira paused, taking another sip from her whiskey and wondering if, just maybe, Lena was the outlier in this experiment. One could never really know without a control group, or repeated experiments, of course.

 _This study involves only one subject, and her development over the course of a year. To truly know if this is the norm, another subject will be necessary, and that study will take place at a later date. For now, our focus will remain on Tracer. Tracer was brought to me a year ago…_


End file.
